


Brown Plaid Doll

by icybluepenguin



Series: Brown Plaid Doll [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: 1920, Blow Job, Dirty Talk, Dominant, F/M, Gangster, Jazz Age, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Secretary - Freeform, Smut, dom!Tom, explicit - Freeform, tom hiddleston rpf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icybluepenguin/pseuds/icybluepenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Criminal kingpin Tom Hiddleston comes back to his office after a deal falls through.  Was it his quiet secretary who fed his rival information?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Deal Fell Through

**Author's Note:**

> I've retitled this one shot to be the start of a chapter fic. There will probably be 4-5 chapters total. 1920’s gangster!Tom is not always nice in this, fair warning. 
> 
> 20's slang: brown plaid- Scotch whiskey; doll- a woman

I slipped a few papers into a folder and slid it back into the box.  This was taking forever.  How had I fallen so far behind today?  It had been so busy, juggling all the phone calls, the meetings, and the boss.  Mr. Hiddleston was anxious today- or as anxious as someone like him got.  Most people wouldn’t have noticed the tense line of his shoulders and the way his fingers tapped against his leg, but I had.  I made it my business to know when someone was upset.  A defense mechanism I developed young.  I knew to lay low when someone, especially powerful someones, were upset.

I needed to get this work done before Mr. Hiddleston returned from his date.  He had left the office, dressed impeccably in a black linen suit, with a blonde bombshell on his arm.  Perfect gold waves, a sparkling, low cut blue dress, her face rouged and lips dark red… she was the embodiment of female beauty, just the way he liked.  How he found so many of them, I would never know.  He only saw each woman two or three times but never lacked for companionship. 

He would use his bombshell beauty as distracting arm candy during his dinner meeting, take her dancing, then bring her back here to “get to know her.”  He never brought them back to his house, only the office.  I had no idea why, but then, my boss’ sexual activities weren’t part of my job.  Part of my  _fantasies_ , certainly, but not my job.  In my imagination, it was me in his office, me under him on that leather couch, me bent over his desk…

I shuddered, getting a firm grip on my wandering mind.  That was why I wanted to be gone by the time he brought her back.  I didn’t need to hear them together.  I grabbed another stack of papers off my desk, grumbling when a note fluttered off onto the floor.  I crouched down to pick it up, papers clutched to my chest.

The door opened.   _Damn, I’m too slow,_ I thought.  I poked my head up over my desk, unsure if I should announce myself.

Mr. Hiddleston walked into the reception area- alone.  There was a tear in the shoulder of his fine coat and- was that  _blood_  on his knuckles?  His face was a mask of such cold fury that I gasped when his eyes fell on me.  He jerked his head towards his office and I immediately stood and put down my papers.  He was ahead of me, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket.  He went to stand by the window, gazing down at the street while he dabbed absently at the blood.

I poured a bit of water in a glass from his bar and brought it over with me.  Carefully, I took the cloth from him and dipped it in the water.  He held out his injured hand and I took it, marveling at the long, elegant fingers in contrast to the swollen red knuckles.  I cleaned them gently, touching him with tender care, although I was sure he didn’t even notice.

"The deal fell through," he said curtly, still looking down at the street.  This wasn’t the first time he’d come back from a "meeting" bloody or the first time I’d cleaned him up.  I loved these little excuses to touch him.  Especially his hands, so strong and beautiful.  And deadly, when he wanted them to be.  I wondered what had happened to his date and why he had come back here instead of going home if she wasn’t with him.

He spoke quietly.  “Someones been feeding Clayton information.  Clayton got to the docks ahead of me, offered them double.”  He shook his head ruefully.  “My buyer had no interest in doing business with someone who has nothing to sell.”

"Can I get you a drink, sir?" I asked, releasing his hand.

"Scotch.  Neat."  He stood at the window for another long minute before moving to sit in the chair behind his desk.

I brought over the drink, standing at his side holding the tumbler.  Mr. Hiddleston hated to have his drinks handed to him across the desk, meaning I got to stand very close to him while I served him.  He turned his chair, his knees spread wide as he took the glass, careful to avoid touching my fingers.  He took a languid sip, his eyes wandering over me as he did.

"Is there anything else, sir?" My voice wasn’t at all as steady as I would have liked, quiet and mousy.  He was in a foul mood and my instincts were screaming at me to clear out.

He put down the scotch and his hand, now free, darted out lightning fast to twist in my hair at the side of my head.  A small cry escaped my lips- his grip was not at all gentle and tears prickled in my eyes.  He yanked my head to the side.

"You are so small," he mused, rubbing a finger over his chin as if he were looking at a painting he was thinking about buying instead of his secretary held captive in his grasp.  "Was it you?" he snapped suddenly.  "Did you feed the information to Clayton?"

"Wh-what?" I breathed, gritting my teeth when his hand in my hair clenched.  I tried to keep my eyes on his, although they were swimming with tears.  Meeting his intense blue gaze was terrifying.

He pulled down on my hair, forcing me to my knees between his legs, my head held at an awkward angle to keep my eyes on his.  His free hand trailed down my exposed cheek, almost tenderly, until it reached my neck.  His large hand easily circled my throat, his thumb rubbing idly along my jugular vein.  I felt a vulnerability that I had never experienced before, held trapped and open to him.

"I could kill you, you know.  So easily.  Just a quick  _snap_  and it would all be over.”  His voice was dark, but strangely wistful at the same time.  “The question is, would anyone miss you?”

How could I answer that?  Truth or lie, I would be giving him permission to kill me.  A lie would earn me instant death, I was sure.  The truth would assure him that no one would care to ask any awkward questions.  My Da had worked for Mr. Hiddleston until he died,  which was the only reason I had this job.  Ruthless and merciless he might be, but Mr. Hiddleston rewarded loyalty.  My mother had passed on long since and probably wouldn’t have missed me even if she were alive.  There was the fellow I was seeing, Jasper, but he held no strong feelings for me- not yet anyway.

"No, sir," I whimpered the truth, waiting with my heart pounding in my chest.  His thumb was maddeningly distracting on my throat, caressing the sensitive skin there over and over.  My arms were covered in goosebumps and not all were from fear.  How I could want to flee from him and melt into him at the same time, I would never understand.

"Very good, Miss Brown,” he whispered with a hint of pride.  His eyes narrowed, assessing me.  "I knew you wouldn’t lie to me."  His look changed subtly, moving from calculating to…  _hungry_.  His eyes roamed my body, his hand pulling my head so that my back arched, my chest thrust towards him.  I shivered, nipples tingling as they hardened under his gaze.

"You look… well frankly,  _delicious_  down on your knees like that. How have I never noticed you before?”  His hand left my hair, combing back the loose strands from my face then crooking a finger under my chin and angling my face so that he could examine me, again making me feel like an object he was thinking of buying.

_I’m not your type,_  I thought, biting my lip.   _I’m not tall,blonde, sex on legs.  I’m just the daughter of your old bodyguard.  Your secretary.  Why would you notice me?  I’ve made it my business to be invisible to you._

To my shock, his thumb touched my mouth, coaxing my lip out from between my teeth and running gently over the impression they had left.  My mouth hung open, just a bit, and when his thumb dragged over my upper lip, I was as surprised as he was to feel my tongue flicking out to lick at his skin.  I couldn’t read his eyes, the blue just a thin ring around dark pupils as he stared at me.

"We’re going to play a game, darling," he said in a quiet, dark voice.  "Not unlike the game Simon Says that children play.  You will do everything I say."

"When do I not, Mr. Hiddleston?"  Was that  _me_  saying something so bold in a husky voice?  What had come over me?  I felt like I was floating, my eyes unfocused except where they rested on his stern face.

I was graced with a rare smile.  “Never.  Unbutton your blouse, Miss Brown.”  He sat back in his chair, hands abandoning my body and leaving me desperately wanting them back.  I felt cold, even still fully dressed, without his touch.

I began to undo my blouse without hesitation.  I didn’t know what he had planned, but I wanted him to touch me again.   _Anything_  to get him to touch me again. 

He watched me like a hawk, his eyes never leaving my fingers as I slowly revealed my bra.  His tongue darted out, wetting his lips when I undid the last button, baring my stomach and shrugging out of the sleeves.  I twisted my hands together in my lap, conflicting sensations of nerves and arousal swirling together deep in my belly.

"Lovely," he murmured, leaning forward to examine me more closely.  "You’re doing very well so far, Miss Brown."  He sat back, shifting his legs wider, his hands resting on the armrests of his chair.  "I want you to undo my belt and trousers."  He cocked an eyebrow at me, waiting to see if I would object.  As if I would.

I scooted carefully closer to him on my knees.  He smelled of linen and spices- cinnamon and clove and pepper.  The scent, warm and intoxicating, filled my nose, tickling the back of my throat with each deep breath.  I put my hands on his knees, sliding them up the buttery fabric slowly to his belt.  I heard his breath quicken above me, but I didn’t dare look up.  I knew if I did, I would lose my nerve.  I had fantasized about touching him this way for so long that I was terrified that one wrong move, one bit of hesitation would have it all come crashing down.  He would realize that it was just his mouse of a secretary kneeling before him and he would end it.

I reached the silver buckle of his belt and eased it open.  My breath was swift and shallow in anticipation of what he would ask me to do.  I was aching for whatever came next, so keyed up that I wanted to squirm, and he hadn’t even touched me yet.  I could feel him, hard and hot under the linen, as I popped the button and slid down the zipper carefully.

Mr. Hiddleston apparently didn’t believe in underwear, I found out when I slid my hand into his fly and eased out his cock.  I stared at it, long and beautiful and flushed dark in my hand.  I couldn’t help stroking the silky skin, so warm against my own.

"I want your mouth on me, Miss Brown," he said, his voice taut with control.  I saw his fingers twitch on the arm of the chair.

I blanched for a moment.  I had never done that before and it didn’t seem like Mr. Hiddleston, ruthless criminal kingpin, was a good man to practice on.  I knew vaguely what to do- being shy and timid didn’t mean I was  _innocent_ , not when all the people I knew were more or less criminals.  But my mouth was watering at the sight of him in front of me and my body was making it clear what  _it_  wanted.

I dipped my head, exhaling a shaky breath to try and steady myself.  I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock with tentative pressure.  His sharp inhale above me could have been encouragement or disapproval.  I couldn’t tell until his long fingers threaded into my hair, gently coaxing my mouth back to him.  This time, with my tongue tracing a vein along the side, I knew his shuddering breath was enjoyment.  A drop of fluid glistened at the tip and, emboldened, I swiped it up, salt flooding over my tastebuds.  I swallowed, a small sound escaping me as his fingers tightened against my scalp, sending delicious shivers down my spine.

"Oh, darling, you are beautiful like this," he whispered, tilting my face up slightly so he could look down at me.  I was shocked to see the emotion on his face, always so stoic, but now desire blazed in his eyes along with something I couldn’t quite name.  They were dark, the pupils blown wide, his breath slightly uneven.  Because of me?  I licked my lips unconsciously and he shuddered, gripping me tighter and again pulling me back to his cock.

"Suck," he commanded, voice rough and deep.

My mouth opened immediately at his word, drawing him in.  I didn’t take much, barely more than the head, but his stuttering breath above me flooded me with warmth that swirled and settled between my legs.  I was surprised to discover that I loved the feel of him in my mouth.  Hard and yielding at the same time, slick and sliding skin, the flavor of him dripping in concentrated droplets onto my tastebuds.  My tongue molded around him, filling my mouth in a satisfying way that I couldn’t explain while I rocked my head slowly, taking just a bit more each time.

"Yes," he groaned.  "Your mouth feels so good.  If I had known… God, I would have had you under my desk every damn day, just like this.  Sucking me off, no one the wiser-"

A tingle ran down my spine at the thought- me, hidden between his knees, mouth stuffed full of him while he carried on his business, occasionally petting my hair or stroking my cheek…  Why did that sound so damn erotic?  There was a slow, demanding throbbing between my legs, begging for his touch.  I shifted on my knees to ease it, sucking him deeper.

"Oh, it seems you would have enjoyed that too, hmm?"  He chuckled, dark and velvety.  "You’re not quite as innocent and proper as you appear, are you, Miss Brown?  Do you like it when I say filthy things to you, darling?"

I made a noise, muffled by his flesh in my mouth.  My fingers flexed on his thighs, digging in to the hard muscle there.

"My slutty little secretary.  You- oh  _God_ ,” he suddenly groaned deep.  I sucked him hard the same way again, hearing his breathing go ragged above me, his hands gripping my head tighter.  “You  _do_  like it when I speak dirty things to you.  I’m happy to oblige, darling, especially with your lovely little mouth around my cock….”

I coughed violently when he bumped the back of my throat and I pulled off him for a gulp of air, face flushed with embarrassment.  My inexperience was showing.  I was certain he’d snap at me, displeased.  After all, the bombshells he normally dated could probably take him right down their throats with nary a blink.  And I had nothing like that to offer.

Neither of us moved for long moments.  Then Tom’s hand slipped from my hair to caress my cheek, softly so softly, on its way to grip his cock at the base.  He began to stroke himself with long slow movements.  I could hear it, the sound of skin sliding on slick skin.  I couldn’t take my eyes off his hand, biting my lip to keep in the desperate sound I wanted to make.  I needed him to fill that empty ache between my legs, needed to feel his hot skin on mine.

"Tell me, Kate, are you wet for me?"

The sound of my first name, said in that gruff, calm voice- as if he were asking if I had a file he wanted- caused the whimper I was holding back to escape.  A surge of arousal swept over me, leaving me hot all over, burning with conflicting feelings of embarrassment and lust.

"Yes, sir" I whispered, still held captive by his hand on his cock.

He shifted in his chair, leaning forward and pulling me to my feet.  His hands crept under my skirt, bunching up the silky fabric until he could slide his fingers under the waistband of my panties.  His eyes met mine, anticipation and arousal evident in his face as he licked his lips.  There was a small, sharp rip and then I was bare to him and his questing fingers.  One long digit rubbed along my folds, swollen and slippery. 

"Oh, you are so very wet, Kate," he groaned, his finger still moving slowly, but never where I wanted.  Then it was gone and he was urging me onto his lap, positioning my legs straddling him.  "I want to feel you sinking down on my cock with that hot, wet cunt," he said with feral intensity.  "I bet you are so tight, darling.  Let me feel."

I shuddered at his words, his eyes burning into mine as he waited for my answer.  I nodded, my lip still caught between my teeth, my body tense with anticipation.  With my skirt hiked up around my waist, he guided me down on to him, his large hands firm on my hips.  He was slow, controlling my descent, and I grasped his arms for balance, feeling the tense cords of muscle under his skin.

I quivered at the slow pace, increasingly eager in contrast to his careful movements.  I wanted to slam myself down on him, to take him suddenly all at once, to feel the delicious burn of his entry.  My thighs twitched and I tried to move, but he held me tight.

"Oh no, Kate.  I want to feel every inch of you."  His lips curled into a small, wicked smile.  "Inside and out."

I whimpered, feeling him slide slightly further, unhurried.  He felt amazing, hot and hard and filling the void I’d been feeling since he first touched me.  When I finally sank down on him to the hilt, resting my weight on his legs, I gasped at how satisfyingly full, how complete I felt.  I rolled my hips experimentally, rejoicing in both Tom’s deep groan and the sparks of pleasure radiating from my core.

He moved his hands from my hips, skimming up my bare back until I arched towards him.  He flicked open my bra with practiced fingers and slid it down my arms.  His lips caught my nipple, sucking it into the wet heat of his mouth and laving it with his tongue.  He moved to the other, working it harder and harder and chuckling against my skin when I clenched around him.

"Does my pretty little slut like it rough, as well?" he purred, blowing cool air across my swollen flesh. I gave a small wanton mewl at his words, a wave of heat and wet flowing down my body to pool between my hips.  One hand slipped into my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my neck.  The other grasped my shoulder, grinding me down on him as he thrust up sharply.  I yipped, surprised, my spine curving further towards him.  My noises turned to low moans when his lips found my neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin.

"That’s it, dirty Kate, let me hear you while you ride me."  Each phrase punctuated with a hard thrust, pulling me down to meet each one, his teeth worrying my neck.  His voice was an aphrodisiac; deep, hypnotic, filthy.  Every word seeped into my skin like a caress, as if he were touching me everywhere at once.  "Your cunt feels so good, Kate.  So wet and slick, so snug and hot…"

I could feel it, building rapidly below my belly, each thrust and pull grinding my clit down on him, making me whine and shudder.  I rocked my hips faster and he took the hint, moving faster and harder himself.  ”Come, Kate, come for me.  Come on my lap- yes, good girl-“

I shrieked, bowing my back, rocking on him as red-gold sparks danced across my closed eyes, sending me spiraling out of control.  My hands clenched on his arms, digging into the fabric of his shirt but feeling nothing but the white hot convulsions of my orgasm.  I gasped, suddenly able to breathe again, vision slowly resolving to focus on his face, his eyes avid and hungry.

Tom dove forward suddenly, bearing us both to the floor, my legs wrapped around his as he began a punishing rhythm.  My heart pounded, my breath still coming in ragged pants, even as I lifted my hips to welcome him deeper.  His hands wrapped over my shoulders pulled me down to meet each hard thrust.

His lips were at my ear, sucking on the lobe before whispering, “Oh good girl, good filthy girl…  Letting me fuck you on the floor.  You’re going to come for me again, aren’t you, Kate?”  He growled, fierce and possessive.  “While I fuck you so hard you’ll have bruises…”

Every sharp slam into me forced a whimper or gasp from my mouth.  I couldn’t help it, he was driving the air from my lungs and I was in heaven.  Every dirty word he snarled in my ear, the brutal grip of his fingers on my shoulders, each smack of his hips, and soon I was hurtling back into pure sensation, arching into him, surrendering to him, opening myself even further to his invasion.

He grunted, his strokes fast and short then long, deep, grinding against me at the end.  I opened my eyes to see his face, a beautiful tortured portrait just before his bliss, his head flung back and the long column of his neck exposed.  I wanted so badly to lick and bite that neck, to feel my teeth sink into the yielding skin, to taste the drops of sweat beading at his temples.  I watched, captivated- his lips pressed shut, his stuttering noises muffled behind them, his skin flushed and damp.

With a gasped “Fuck!” he collapsed next to me, his arm resting limp across my middle.  We lay tangled on the floor, breathing hard.  I felt heavy, boneless, euphoric.  His spicy scent filled my senses, tempting me to turn my head and taste his skin.  I realized that we hadn’t kissed, in this whole time.  There had been no seduction, no prologue to our tryst.  And I didn’t care.  I hadn’t had many partners, but no one had made me feel this elated, satisfied, exhausted and at the same time energized.

I snapped back to reality when Tom moved his arm and got carefully to his feet.  He reached for his fly and I averted my eyes, too shy to watch now that our connection was broken.  I rolled to my knees, reaching for my discarded bra and blouse.  My skirt slid back down my legs as I stood and I squirmed at the sensation of something more liquidy sliding down my thigh as well.  I could feel his eyes on me, even though my back was to him while I buttoned my blouse.  I wasn’t sure what to do or say now that it was over.  I no longer felt like the eager woman who rode him in his desk chair- I was his timid secretary again and she was confused and terrified of what would happen next.  The atmosphere felt charged with tension, about to shatter into a million pieces.

“Are you finished puttering around your desk for tonight, Miss Brown?”

I flushed, staring at the floor.  The dismissal made my eyes sting with unshed tears.  God, no, I couldn’t cry in front of him.  “Yes, sir.”  I took a deep, shaky breath, praying that he didn’t notice.  I turned to look at him with only polite interest on my face- I hoped.  “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”   _Always the model employee,_  I thought bitterly.

He was standing so close to me, I could feel the heat of him.  I hadn’t heard him move. His finger slipped under my chin, tilting my head up.  His face was inches from mine, his thin lips parted slightly.  “Oh yes,” he murmured, dipping his head to brush his lips against mine so lightly I could barely feel them.  “There is quite a lot you can do for me, darling.  And you will do it naked- beneath me, above me, writhing and crying my name.”

I couldn’t breathe, staring up into his eyes.  My mind stumbled, staggered, trying to comprehend what he was saying.  He wasn’t saying that-

"You’re coming home with me, darling.  I am not nearly done with your sweet wanton little body."  His mouth claimed mine, a searing deep kiss that had my toes curling in my shoes.  “Get your coat."


	2. My Starling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate wakes up in Mr. Hiddleston’s house and wonders if she’s made a mistake. He tries to convince her otherwise while searching for the rat who gave information to his rival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in the 1920’s, but it is VERY not historically accurate- especially Kate’s underwear/bra. 20’s underwear is NOT sexy. I’m taking artistic license- sue me, lol. There will be at least 2 more chapters in this story. I’ve thrown in some 20’s slang, so keep an eye out for these: brown plaid- Scotch whiskey; doll- a woman; skirt- a woman; quiff- a slut or cheap prostitute; buttons- cops; bunny- someone lost, confused, pathetic; rub- student dance.

I woke up slowly to the scent of cinnamon and pepper.  I wasn’t at home- my linens smelled of lilac.  That smelled like… This was…

_Mr. Hiddleston’s bed._  I froze, trying to keep my breathing deep and even so that he wouldn’t know that I was awake.  Not until I was sure what I was going to do.  What had happened last night… even when we had finally collapsed exhausted into his bed…  Never once had we talked about what we were doing or what we would do the next day.  I had been completely caught up in his passion, his burning mouth and filthy whispers and strong hands.  And-  _oh God_ \- the way he had commanded me and turned my body into his willing plaything…

But now I was awake in his bed in the cold, rational light of the morning.  Mr. Hiddleston- Tom?  Should I call him Tom?- didn’t seem like the type to snuggle in bed with his lover.  Was I his lover?  Or was I just a warm body on a Wednesday night?  Where, exactly, did I fall on the spectrum?

I slowly realized that  _I_ may be in Mr. Hiddleston’s bed, but  _he_  wasn’t.  I was fairly certain that I was alone among the sheets.  There was no sound of breathing, no heat from his body, not even that sense that I wasn’t alone.  I opened my eyes and carefully rolled over.  Yes, the bed was completely empty except for me.

I’d had a few boyfriends in the past who I’d had sex with.  But it wasn’t like this, of course.  We’d have dinner, go dancing or see a movie, then I’d invite them back to my place for a few hours.  They would leave, I’d go to sleep… This had been so different.  I had been so exhausted afterwards and he had seemed… oddly reluctant to let me go.  I hadn’t protested much, just a simple mumbled  “If I’m not a bother, sir” and he had pulled the blanket up over me and told me brusquely to go to sleep.  Well, that implied that I wasn’t just a convenient skirt last night- but then again, he wasn’t here now, was he?

I couldn’t hear any water running, either.  Had he gone downstairs?  Now it seemed even more awkward than waking up next to him would have been.  I didn’t want to just wander around his house looking for him.  It was large, on the outskirts of the city.  Three floors, huge entryway, stone floors and hardwood banisters- that’s what I remembered from last night.  I hadn’t seen much as Tom rushed me up the stairs and into his bedroom.

The bedroom that had been dark and cocoon-like last night was now lit by the early sunlight coming through a huge window, framed by dark green curtains.  The bed, a huge 4-poster monstrosity, took up most of one wall.  There were two doors- one to the bathroom and one to a closet, I supposed.  There was a dresser and a full length mirror next to the second door.  There was also a comfortable looking chair, piled with my clothes, pulled up alongside a small table, which currently had a silver breakfast tray placed on it.

I sat up and immediately stifled a groan.  I was sore all over.  My legs and back ached and my throat felt raw.  Last night had been more vigorous exercise than I’d gotten in a long time.  Bent over the edge of the bed, arms braced to push back against him hard and fast, his hands bruising on my hips…  _Did_  I have bruises? I wondered.  I craned my neck carefully to look myself over, but I didn’t see any.

Mindful of my aching muscles, I eased myself out of bed.  The room was chilly and goosebumps sprung up on my arms and legs.  Shivering, I hurried towards the chair.  Had Tom put my clothes there?  As far as I remembered, my clothes had been flung around the room in his haste to have me naked.  I looked at the tray while I dressed.  There was a note along with a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of toast.  Once dressed in my outfit from yesterday- moaning at the wrinkles and lack of underwear- I picked up the note.

_Early meeting.  William will drive you to the office.  Do not be late, starling._

Early meeting?  Mr. Hiddleston didn’t have an early meeting- I would know, wouldn’t I… _Oh,_  I thought, putting the pieces together.  He had begun his search for the rat who had sold information to Clayton.  The sooner he began, the easier the man would be to find.  A tryst with his secretary wasn’t worth letting the trail go cold.

And “starling.”  A shiver ran down my spine at the word.  Somewhere between the flurry of clothes nearly ripped off and being bent over the side of the bed as he slid deep inside me, I found myself, half naked, pressed with my face against the wall, his hard body holding me there, his breath harsh in my ear.

His hands closed over my wrists, encasing the fragile joints with strong fingers, bringing them up over my head.  “Look at you,” he crooned delightedly.  “So small, so delicate.”  His teeth grazed my skin and I gasped at the feel of his erection against my ass.  “And the sounds you make.  Just like a bird… yes, a starling, that’s what you are.”  He hummed into my neck, grinding his hips forward.  “My dirty little starling.  I should fuck you right here, like this, have you bouncing off the wall with every thrust into your slippery cunt.  You’d like that, wouldn’t you…”

I swallowed hard and squirmed a bit, just the memory starting up a low throb between my legs.  God above, how could he say such things… and how could I like them so much?  I was shy, quiet- a mouse more than a bird, really.  But with him, whispering filthy endearments in my ear, I had been on fire.  I had hung on every word, every bit of dirty praise, every promise of what he would do to me next. 

It was wrong, wasn’t it?  I was a modern woman, and a criminal if the buttons starting nosing around, but I was still proper, polite, even demure.  What sort of depraved woman enjoyed a man calling her a slut, having him whisper in her ear how tight and wet her cunt was around him.  But in the dark and the heat, his hands hard on my limbs, his mouth on my neck, I had writhed and screamed and offered myself to him in a way I had never done before.  I had loved it, all of it.

Those were the thoughts that I turned over and over in my head all morning.  As I soothed my throat, sore from screaming, with the coffee that was much more expensive than I could afford, I thought about the dark thrill I got when he called me his dirty slut, his filthy starling, his sinful fucktoy.  By the time his butler, William, was driving me away from Tom’s house, I was dwelling on the feeling of him between my legs and how hot and hard he had felt in my mouth, the salty-almost-sweet taste of him on my tongue.

I convinced William to drive me back to my apartment instead of to the office, as Mr. Hiddleston had requested.  I had thought briefly of not going to work at all.  Surely it would be too awkward to see Tom this soon.  What would I say to him?  Would he act as if it hadn’t happened?  What if he didn’t?

But I knew better than to avoid him, no matter how much my stomach twisted and knotted at the thoughts of what might, or might not, happen.  I changed into new clothes quickly, hurriedly brushing my hair and teeth, then ran to catch my usual street car.  What would he want from me?  What did _I_  want?

I shied violently away from the truth.  I wanted  _him_.  I wanted what I’d had last night, the sweet scrape of nails, the sharp bite of teeth, the glow of skin rasped by stubble, and the soreness of my muscles the next morning.  I hungered for his commands, the pride in his voice when I didn’t shy away, the glint in his eyes when I begged for harder and faster.  The tender way he called me his slut.  His dirty starling.

_But that’s not what you_ should _want,_  I told myself.  _You should want someone nice.  Someone who treats you like a lady, not a whore._  

_I don’t want to be treated like a lady,_  I thought before I caught myself.  Who would say that, even in her head?  That was a terrible thought. 

Wasn’t it?

"Men may dally with a harlot, but they marry proper girls," my granny had always said.  What we had done last night had certainly not been proper or decent.  What would my father have thought?  For that matter, what did Mr. Hiddleston think? Not about marriage, but was I playing the whore for him and ruining his opinion of me?  Would he fire me when he got tired of fucking me?  Did he think of me as a throwaway conquest, an easy lay that warranted no further thought?

By the time I got to the office, nodding to the guards at the door, my head was spinning with insecurities and the expensive coffee was sour in my stomach.  I felt sick enough to puke, unsure of everything.  Who was I, the dirty slut or the demure career girl?  I couldn’t be both, could I?

The door to Mr. Hiddleston’s office was closed when I arrived and I was grateful for the delay in seeing him.  I could hear his voice and two others through the wood.  I sank down in my chair, resting my elbows on the desk and burying my face in my hands.  What had seemed like such an incredible night now looked cheap and tarnished.  And yet I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on my body, controlling me,  _molding_  me…

An hour later, the door opened and two men stepped out in the reception area.  Mr. Hiddleston followed, dressed in a sharp gray suit.  I had been staring blindly at the calendar on my desk, still lost in thought, although they had taken a decidedly dirtier turn- imagining myself spread on his bed, or on my knees between his legs, or slammed up against a wall, bouncing with each thrust…

Mr. Hiddleston glanced at me as he walked the men out.  His eyes were unreadable, but the way he licked his lips made me shiver.  He passed close by my desk and I could smell his cologne, spicy and rich, on the air.  The scent brought back the feel of his body in a sudden wave, the way his thighs had tensed as I knelt between them, exploring his cock with my tongue, the way his chest had been so smooth under my palms, the silk of his blonde hair in my fingers as I straddled him…

The sound of a pencil clattering to the floor jerked me from my memories.  Blinking to clear my mind, I walked around my desk to retrieve it, knowing how tidy Mr. Hiddleston liked things to be.  It was habit by now to keep the reception area spotless for him.  I bent over to pick up the pencil.

I felt him suddenly press against my ass and he pulled me up so fast my head spun a bit.  His arm slipped up around my ribs, his hand cupping my throat.  The other hand splayed out over my stomach, fingers dancing just above the dropped waist of my dress.

“Someone went home to change,” he purred in my ear.  “That’s a shame.  I wanted to see you wear that come-stained skirt all day.  So that everyone.  Could.  Know.  What.  You.  Are.”  Each word was punctuated by a nip at my earlobe.  I shuddered at the dark intensity of his voice, lascivious, hungry.  “My dirty little starling.”

My head tipped back on his shoulder of its own accord, a small whimper escaping my lips as his thumb rubbed slowly under my jaw.  It felt so good, being held captive by him, his breath hot on my skin.  His body radiated controlled power, strength that could be used to hurt or to pleasure.  And oh could he pleasure with those long fingers and his powerful hips, driving into me just right.   _I shouldn’t enjoy this so much…_ I thought.   _But oh I want it, God, yes…_

“Take off your knickers, Miss Brown.”  Lips brushed the shell of my ear, breath warm and moist, the words loud even though he had whispered them.

I didn’t even pause to think.  He loosened his hold just enough to allow me to bend over again, slipping the fabric from around my ankles.  He held out his hand for them and I gave them over with no hesitation.  I would have walked out into the street naked if he’d asked me by whispering in my ear.

“Oh, naughty girl,” he chuckled and I wished I could see his face, his arm tightening around my waist again.  “These are  _soaked_.  What  _have_  you been thinking about today?”

There was little point in lying to him.  “You, sir,” I said, stumbling just a little on the admission, my cheeks flushing red.   _So many dirty thoughts about you._

He gave a satisfied hum, dark and deep, against my neck.  “I’m sure.  I expect there’ll be a wet spot on that dress when I call you into my office later.”  His lips closed on my neck, sucking hard until my knees shook and I collapsed slightly in his arms.  With a flick of his tongue over the spot, he released me. 

I turned, fighting the urge to run my hands up the lapels of his suit, to twine my fingers in his hair.  I wanted to tilt my face up, inviting a kiss.  But instead, I stared awkwardly at the knot of his tie.  He wasn’t that sort of lover.  I desperately needed reassurance- his obvious desire for me had quelled  _some_  of my concern, but the deeper issues still lingered in my mind, barely hidden by arousal and lust.

His finger slipped under my chin, his thumb running over my lips before lifting it so that I had no choice but to meet his eyes.  I was shocked to see something like concern in them.

"Kate, you are thinking so loud that I’m surprised the guards outside the door can’t hear you."  His mouth curved into a half-smile.  "Is something bothering you?"

"No, Mr. Hiddleston," I whispered, barely able to breathe.  He was stunning, honey gold hair curling just slightly above his forehead and his eyes a hypnotic gray-blue.  I could not admit my insecurities to him.  Not to the man who so calmly ran a hundred different bootlegs under the guise of a manufacturing business while hobnobbing with the elites of the city, all so charmed by him that they would have overlooked that he was a criminal, did they know.  He would laugh at me.  He would think I was a bunny.

His eyes hardened, glinting.  “Do not lie to me, Miss Brown.”  The grip on my chin tightened, a tiny reminder of his strength.  He searched my face for a moment.  “If I had to guess, you are having second thoughts about our… intimacy.”  He rolled the word on his tongue, the slight pause before it showing that it was carefully chosen.  “You can be honest with me, Kate.  I have never had cause to doubt your integrity and I hope that you do not doubt mine.”

I stared at him, unable to marshall the thoughts that had been running amok in my head into words.  I felt pinned by his gaze, like a butterfly on a board, and under his examination I couldn’t seem to think straight at all.

"I shouldn’t have enjoyed what we did," I blurted suddenly, my voice a choked whisper of embarrassment.  I could feel the heat in my cheeks and I shut my eyes, bracing for him to move away or yell or fire me.

"But you did enjoy it?"  His hands drifted slowly down my body, barely touching, to settle on my hips, long fingers splayed over the bones.  He hoisted me up, perching me on the edge of my desk, moving himself closer, subtly parting my legs as far as they could go in my dress and standing between them.  "I certainly enjoyed it.  And that is all the matters.  You and me.  No one else.  No ‘should.’  It is just us, just hands and breath, slick and heat, thrust and pull…"  His mouth hovered over mine, breathing the words into me in a deep, low voice, his hands gripping my hips.  "Longer… slower… harder… faster… and then…  sweet, fleeting bliss…"

His lips never touched mine but I could feel it, the kiss he would have given me- long, slow, ending in that same sweet, fleeting bliss if I wanted it.  I wondered if he could tell how his words had affected me, heat sliding down my body, making me slippery and slick and so ready for him.  I leaned forward, hypnotized by the promise in his voice.

He stepped back, hands falling away from me slowly.  “I am going to call you into my office when I’ve finished the meeting with Barker.  There will be no consequences if you do not come.  But if you do…”  One eyebrow lifted and his tongue slipped out to lick his lips.  “Then, starling, oh how we will play.”  Then he turned and walked away, leaving me sitting on my desk, achingly empty.

*****

"Miss Brown, if you please?"  Mr. Hiddleston’s voice drifted out from his office, as casual as it ever was and subtly demanding obedience.  And I couldn’t refuse.  I wanted him.  More than I had ever wanted anything in my life, I wanted his hands on me.  I wanted to feel again that sweet, fleeting bliss that had been far less fleeting with him.  And I wanted the way he wanted me, seeing past my shy, quiet shell and unleashing something primal that needed to please him in return.  I walked carefully through the door, butterflies flapping madly in my stomach at the seeming enormity of what I was doing.

They calmed immediately when I saw the genuine smile cross his face.  He was standing by his bar, a tumbler of scotch in his hand.  He had taken off his jacket and his dark gray waistcoat drew my eyes to his trim waist then back up to broad, strong shoulders.  His eyes glittered as he raised the glass to his lips, his sleeves rolled up above his elbows, and I relaxed.  He was right.  It was just us, nothing else.

"I am so glad you decided to join me, Miss Brown."  His voice was cool, professional, but his eyes glittered.

I fought the smile trying to curl up at the corners of my mouth.  No, no, I should stay serious.  I didn’t want to look like a giddy schoolgirl at her first rub.  There were only about 6 years difference between Tom and myself, but I always felt so much younger in his presence, so much more innocent and unworldly.

"I have forty-five minutes until my next appointment, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

He jerked his head in a fluid motion, motioning me closer.  I closed the door and walked around his desk, stopping just in front of him, staring at a button on his waistcoat.  Long fingers slid into my hair, pulling my head back to look up at him.  The grip sent shivers down my spine, delicious goosebumps springing up on my arms.  I don’t know what he saw in my face, but he gave a honeyed, dark chuckle, lowering his mouth to my ear.

"So responsive, little starling.  I would wager you’re soaking wet for me, aren’t you?  And I haven’t even touched you.  Should I check?"  He paused, teeth sinking slowly into my earlobe and tugging gently.  "You know, it was so dark in my room last night that I didn’t get a good look at your sinfully delightful body."  With a flick of his tongue on my ear, he pulled back.  "Undress for me.  Slowly."

He sat down on the leather couch, his legs spread wide, and motioned for me to begin.  I could see his own response to me, his cock slowly swelling behind his fly.  I bit my lip, still surprised that I could evoke such a reaction.  His gaze was intense, even though his body was relaxed.  His eyes followed my hands down as I undid the short row of buttons down to the knot holding my long cardigan closed, just below my navel.  The loose wool slipped off my shoulders with the barest shrug. 

Tom nodded encouragement, his gaze skating over the now-bare skin of my arms.  The air in the office was cool and without the warmth of the cardigan, my nipples rose in protest.  He noticed and he licked his lips slowly, making sure I saw him do it.  Just the thought of his hot mouth engulfing the sensitive peaks had me biting my lip and pressing my thighs together.

"I’ve changed my mind," he said abruptly,  leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, one large hand rubbing his throat.  "Naked, Miss Brown.  Now."  There was no room for dissent in his tone and I wouldn’t have argued anyway.  I had been hungry for him all day and I would do anything to get him to touch me.

My dress slid to the floor to pool around my ankles.  I bent to take off my stocking and shoes, trying to be as graceful about it as I could under his- apparently appreciative- stare.  Finally, I unhooked my bra and let it fall off my arms to join my dress on the floor.

"Such hard little nipples, Miss Brown, just begging for my mouth.  Would you like that, darling?" 

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.  He held his hand out for me and I went with no hesitation.

His fingers closed around mine and drew me to stand between his splayed knees.  His free hand slid up my neck, tangling at the base of my skull, his mouth pressing to mine with a firm hunger.  I couldn’t stop my hands from sliding into his hair, the silky smooth strands running over my skin.  He growled quietly against my lips, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.

His other hand dropped mine to slide up my thigh, a light tickling touch up the outside of my leg.  With one hand still in my hair, he coaxed me to sit on his knee.  Once I was there, both his hands began to roam my body, caressing, rubbing, pinching.  The fact that I was naked while he was still fully clothed only added to the delicious feeling that was dancing up my spine that I was  _his_  to play with.

He dipped his head to pull one taut nipple into his mouth, the heat of it making me gasp and press towards him.  I felt his smile, moving to the other to graze with his teeth, my noises increasing with each hard draw, my fingers tangling in his hair to hold him to me.

His touch was warm and firm and everywhere  Smooth palms sliding flat on my ribs.  Rough fingertips on the sides of my breasts.  His breath on my neck.  Soft lips on my shoulder.  His fingers finally cupping me, parting me, dipping into the slick heat that was there for him.

His mouth drifted to my ear as his fingers stroked over me, teasing, spreading the liquid up and around, light touches that made me whimper and beg for more.

"I’m going to make you come all over my hand, starling.  I want to smell you on my skin for the rest of the day."

I shuddered at the thought, my legs falling further open without my permission, my entire body pliant and eager for him.  He hummed in my ear. 

"Good girl.  Just think, every time I scratch my nose or rub my lip, I will be able to smell you- smell how wet you are for me, smell how I made you come on my lap with my fingers.  Such a filthy starling you are…"

Two of his fingers plunged deep and I whined, instinctually tilting myself so he could go deeper.   _Oh god, go deeper,_  I silently begged.  His pleased purr against my throat, just before his lips sealed around my pulse, thrilled me.  He sucked on my neck fiercely, the pull of his mouth a bright point of pain-pleasure amidst the feel of his fingers stroking my walls.  I closed my eyes, my head falling back as he skillfully worked me higher, erasing all thought but how very good it felt.

There was only pull and drag, thrust and press.  Only the sweet torture of his thumb merely resting on my clit, the bucking of my hips to urge him faster.  I whimpered and moaned when he didn’t change pace, making me dance to his tune, his timing.  His will.

“Pretty starling,” he murmured low in my ear.  “All flushed and pink, so eager to come for me.”  He pushed deep on the word  _come_ , his thumb grinding down suddenly and I squeaked as my body ratcheted higher, sweet tension coiling between my legs and up my spine.  “After you come all over my hand, I’m going to put you on your knees and fuck you hard, like a common skirt.”  Teeth scraped my skin and three fingers thrust fast inside me.  “And you will love it, like a dirty slut should.”

I came with a shuddering cry, arching violently against his arm as I ground my cunt onto his fingers.  I lost track of everything but the feel of him inside me, still moving, drawing out every sensation.  He buried his face in my breasts, nipping and sucking at them as I shook and eventually relaxed back onto his arm around my back.

As soon as I opened my eyes, Tom was lifting me off his lap.  He pushed down on my shoulders and my shaking knees gave way easily until I was kneeling in front of the couch.  Behind me, I heard the shifting of fabric, the clink of his belt, and the small whir of his zipper.

He knelt behind me, his hands on my hips, shifting me so that my ass tilted up to the angle he wanted, pulling my knees back towards him.  I grasped the edge of the couch for balance.

"Yes, darling, hold on tight," he growled, tightening his hold on me with one hand, the other sliding the head of his cock against my soaked slit.  He bumped my clit over and over until I was moving with him, rocking to meet him, shifting to try and change his aim to plunge into me instead.  I _needed_  him in me.  I needed the feeling of completion, of unity, of that aching emptiness filled with him.

"Sir, please-"

His first thrust sank him deep inside.  I moaned loud in satisfaction, pressing back against him.  One hand moved to squeeze my shoulder, keeping me still.  The other came up in front of my face to press two fingers against my lips.

"Open, Miss Brown," he demanded, but I was already opening my mouth, sucking his slender fingers inside and groaning at the taste of myself on them.

The sound Tom made when I did had me sucking harder at his fingers- a sound of such fierce longing that I wanted to do anything to please him.  I pushed back towards him as much as I could with his grip on my shoulder pulling me against his pelvis.

"So slippery," he grunted, his hips pushing into mine faster.  "So ready.  Such an eager quiff you are, my dirty little starling."  A long groan interrupted his words when my teeth grazed his fingers.  "I can’t wait to have your mouth again.  Your lips stretched around my cock as you suck me.  Oh I’ll teach you how to use it… think of it, starling, my come leaking from your pretty little mouth…"

His words were getting ragged as his thrusts slammed into me harder.  My arms shook from the effort of bracing them on the couch.  I arched my back further down, every thrust now hitting something spectacular inside me.  I was whining around his fingers as my body tensed.

He growled in pure animal lust at my bowed form.  A broad hand, fingers splayed wide, smoothed down my spine, slow in contrast to the speed of his hips.  There was something possessive in that gesture.  A hint of ownership.  The heat from his palm spread through my body and I couldn’t help but moan at the implications.  All the things I shouldn’t want but did.  The way he spoke to me, the way my body responded to him.

A sharp, stinging slap landed on my ass, my yelp muffled by his fingers.  Another landed just as he pulled his hand from my mouth.  “I want to hear you,” he panted.  “I want to hear you come on my cock, on your knees in my office, just like a good little slut.  Do it, cry my name, starling, tell me how my using you makes you feel-“

I gasped, dropping my head to the couch, his wet fingers finding my clit, rubbing hard in time with his thrusts.  My orgasm rolled through me; my mind was floating on his words while my body seized and sparks crossed my eyelids.  I clenched around him, trying to contain the sensation, make it last just a bit longer.  His name tumbled from my lips again and again in breathy moans.  Behind me, he snarled, smashing into me twice more before he pulled away and I felt his seed land on my back in long warm splashes.

I couldn’t move.  I knelt there, head bowed, breathing hard and fighting the urge to giggle.  I felt so very good.  Languid, joyful, exhausted, alive.  I stayed that way until the liquid on my back cooled and made me shiver.

A handkerchief swiped softly across my spine.  “A shame,” Tom mused quietly.  “You look so lovely kneeling on the floor, painted with my come.”

I turned my head slowly, still resting on the edge of the couch to see him sit down next to me.  His hand stroked my hair, curling a short strand around his finger before letting it slide off.  I wanted to let my eyes drift shut, to bask in the unexpected tender touch.  “Tom…” I murmured, unable to summon the energy to say more.

"My pretty starling."  He looked me over fondly.  "Come up, you’ll get stiff down there."

I was still a bit shaky when I opened the door.  My legs seemed made of rubber and my head was floaty.  I still had to stifle the urge to giggle from joy.  I wanted to do nothing for the rest of the day but cuddle Tom.  He had business to do, though, and cuddling was still not an activity I could associate with him.

I stumbled when I saw someone next to my desk.  He was the next appointment- and he was early.  My cheeks flamed as I walked to my chair, knowing that my hair was less than perfectly coiffed at the moment and my dress was not pristine either.  I wondered how long he had been there.  Had he heard anything?

He smirked at me, leaving me with no doubt that he had.  “Is Mr. Hiddleston available now?”  He looked me up and down, taking his time to make sure I knew exactly what he was thinking.  “Or is he still… using you?”

Tom’s voice came from his doorway, calm but clearly angry.  “Mr. Franklin, my secretary is of no concern to you.  Please come in.”  After Franklin had gone through the door, Tom caught my eye.  He raised his hand to his face and slowly rubbed his upper lip as if he were thinking about something.  One eye closed in a slow wink at me and then the door was closing, leaving me alone with the thought of my scent on his fingers and how it had gotten there.


	3. Nothing Else Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is skeptical that he’ll be able to find the informant; Kate comes to terms with her new relationship- and remembers that she’s already in one with a man named Jasper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s no smut in this chapter, although there is some dirty talking/flirting. I swear the next chapter is pretty much all smut to make up for it!! Angst and feels in this one. 20’s slang: brown plaid- Scotch whiskey; doll- a woman; skirt- a woman; quiff- a slut or cheap prostitute; take for a ride- take someone out to kill them.

By the end of the day, Mr. Hiddleston had met with every one of his lieutenants- his trusted inner circle.  They had each come in, sat in his office, and been thoroughly grilled.  Tom looked exhausted, his eyes red-rimmed and his brow furrowed in a frustrated glare after he ushered the last man out the door.  His normal distance-eating stride seemed diminished to almost a shuffle as he walked back to his desk.  My heart ached for him.  I wanted to hold him and soothe him- but that seemed almost laughable to do for a man like him, so controlled and powerful.  Surely he didn’t need, or want, such sentiment from me.

It was rare for me to leave the office before he did.  There were always papers to file, or mail to sort, or letters to type.  Much of the bootlegging went unrecorded, in case the police ever decided their bribe was insufficient, but the cover business was run with careful and thorough attention.  Today, even though I had spent much of it in an aroused and dreamy haze-  _or in Tom’s office on my knees,_ I thought with a blush- I had still managed to finish all the work I needed to.  I wasn’t sure what to do now.  Should I wait for him?  Should I leave?  Was it presumptuous to assume I would go home with him tonight?  When on the odd occasion I had left before him in the past, I had always checked first to see if he needed anything. 

So, I knocked quietly, timidly, on the open door to his office.  He was sitting behind his desk, his head supported by two fingers at his temple, the rest curled by his nose, thumb along his jaw.  He was staring down, but I had the feeling he wasn’t even seeing what was on the desk.

"Mr. Hiddleston…?" I squeaked awkwardly.  I wasn’t sure what to call him any longer.  I had chanted his name like a prayer pressed up against the couch earlier, with his body driving in to mine from behind, his voice saying filthy things in my ear.  But outside that consuming passion, back in cold reality…  I thought it best to err on the side of deference.

He didn’t look up, but motioned with his free hand, a quick come hither with two fingers.  “Come here.”

I walked to him, noticing the slump to his broad shoulders, the way he seemed to take up less space than normal.  His desk was cluttered, covered in scraps of paper scrawled full of notes.  As I approached, he growled low, sitting up straight and crumpling one in his hand.  He threw it across the room with a fierce snarl and it bounced off the wall.  I froze, unsure- he had told me to come in, but he seemed furious at the moment.  His cool, detached annoyance I knew I could handle, but this rage terrified me.

He looked at me finally, anger and frustration clear on his face, his mouth still pulled up in a snarl.  His eyes wandered slowly down my body and as they did, I could see his shoulders relax, his spine straighten, his hands loosen.  He smiled at me- and even though it was tired, it was genuine and warm.

"I said come here, starling," he said, too firm to be a plea but too soft to be an order.  He held out his hand and I stepped around his desk to take it.

He pulled me into his lap, one strong arm around my waist, the other hand burying in my short hair.  He tugged my head back, dipping his own to kiss me.  Fierce and fast, lips and tongue searching, plundering, and I melted beneath him, whimpering into his mouth.  I didn’t know what he needed and all I could give him was my body, submissive and pliant for him to use however he wanted.

"Kate," he sighed against my lips.  His grip loosened and, to my shock, he rested his head on my shoulder, his face buried under the waves of my hair.  Tentatively, I ran my fingers through his curls, stroked his slim neck, let my touch wander over any part of him that I could reach.  He was warm and solid, tense and clearly weary, but the feel of him was reassuring even as I tried to comfort him.

"You haven’t found who sold the information," I whispered, my voice barely a breath.  This was not the part of the business I was usually involved in and I was nervous to insert myself where I didn’t belong- but it seemed like I should say  _something_  in the silence.

His neck tensed beneath my hand again.  “No.  And short of taking all my trusted subordinates for a ride, I’m not sure how to proceed.”  He sat up straight, his posture slowly resuming its air of control and command.  “I don’t even know that it  _is_  one of my lieutenants.  He gave away information that only they  _should_  have.  But I met with them all today…  it could have been a subordinate, I suppose.  I think one of them is lying to me and the damn bastard is very good at it.  He will pay dearly for it when I find him.”  His voice was full of fury, but icy and calmer now.

Tom’s broad hand slid up my chest to cup my throat, tilting my head back to look at him.  His thumb stroked lightly over my jaw and his gaze focused on my face, studying carefully. 

"Are you sure it wasn’t you, starling?" he asked in a husky voice.  I started, a jolt of fear racing through me until I saw the small quirk of his lips, the sparkle in his eyes.  He was  _joking_.  I couldn’t remember the last time Mr. Hiddleston had joked.  “It would be much easier.  Think of how much fun-” he leaned forward and caught my earlobe in his teeth, “I would have-” a tug to my ear and then he was trailing hot kisses down my neck, “getting the information out of you.  I could be very…  _creative_.”

His lips sealed on the point where my neck met my shoulder, sucking fiercely.  I jerked in his arms, the hot prickling sensation of his suction and the burn from the scruff on his face sending a wave of moisture down my body.  I couldn’t stifle a low, wanton moan, arching my chest enticingly into his, tipping my head to offer more of my neck to him.

His laugh danced over my wet skin.  Long fingers slipped between my legs, pressing the fabric of my skirt against my wet folds.  “Oh starling.  Do you need to come again so soon?  It’s only been a few hours, greedy little quiff.”  His tone was light and teasing, as were his fingers, rubbing in a slow circle over my clit.  I groaned, thrusting up into his hand.  He tutted in mock disappointment he pulled his hand back. “Tomorrow, sweet.  You can wait that long, can’t you?”

I sighed dramatically, playing along, happy to see this side of him in such dark circumstances. Even if it did mean going home wet and wanting.  It surprised me how much I still  _wanted_  him even after earlier.  “I suppose, sir.”   I pouted a little for effect.

"That’s my good girl."  He brushed his lips over mine as he purred his praise, his tongue flicking out to taste me.  I pressed towards him, opening to him, asking for him.  The kiss he gave me was slow, gentle, but full of command, expecting me to follow.  And I did, my hands resting on his lean chest, feeling his nipples harden under my fingers through his shirt.  I circled them with my thumbs, matching the rhythm of our mouths, until he shuddered and broke away from the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine. 

"Can- can I do anything for you, Mr. Hiddleston?" I asked softly, my voice making my arousal obvious.

"Not tonight, starling.  I will be staying quite late.  Go home."  He must have noticed my face crumble at that, because he chuckled as he continued, "Pack a suitcase.  I intend to take you home with me tomorrow and keep you the entire weekend."

*****

I walked through the door of my apartment, kicking it closed behind me.  I felt strangely… empty.  I missed Tom’s hands, his touch, but more than that, I missed his presence.  The way he filled the area around him and drew attention just by _being_.  There seemed to be too much space in the room without him.  I almost expected the sound of my footsteps to echo in the emptiness.

I toed off my shoes, letting them land wherever they wanted.  Sighing, I made a face at the dishes in the kitchen sink.  I had forgotten about those.  I turned on the water, prepping to wash.  It felt like I had been gone longer than one night.  Something about Tom, it was consuming.  It made me forget who and what I was, where I came from- where I belonged.  Coming home- for more than just a quick dash to change clothes- felt like a slap in the face, bringing me back to cold reality.

Tom’s big house, his satin sheets, his rich coffee, and imported liquor, those weren’t things I had experienced before.  I was an underling, a pawn, in Tom’s organization and life in general.  Quiet, unassuming.  I had worked for him for seven years   How did I end up drawing his attention now?

How in the world was I keeping it?

I touched the mark on my neck with fingers wet with dishwater.  I  _did_ appear to be keeping it, though.  The sex in his office this afternoon, the way he had let me hold him before I left, the more-command-than-invitation to spend the weekend with him…  I twisted the sponge in my hands, anxious again.  What did that mean?  Was I his girlfriend?  Was I just his whore?

_Well yes, girlfriend or not, I will always be his whore,_ I thought automatically, longingly.  I reminded myself of his words- that no one else’s opinion mattered- to keep myself from feeling guilty at that thought.  I  _liked_ being his whore, his plaything.  And he seemed to like it too.  Nothing else mattered.

Dishes finished and drying, I went to collapse in my armchair.  I wiggled to get comfortable and thought about reaching for a book, but then my eye caught on the ornate frame on the wall.  I dropped my gaze to the floor, unable to look at that picture of my father.  What would  _he_  think about his boss fucking his daughter until she saw stars?  Surely his opinion mattered.

Da had been a sweet man.  He had been huge, tall and muscular, and he could smash in a man’s face- if it was his job.  But he had been soft and gentle otherwise.  Quiet and a bit slow.  He never raised his voice.  He went where he was told, did as he was asked, never complained.  He had never said a word while my mother had railed at him, bitter and furious about her meek husband and her mediocre daughter and her failed dream of vaudeville.  Never said anything when she threw empty bottles of whiskey at him, shrieking that she hated him for knocking her up.  He just stood there, letting the occasional object bounce off him, waiting for her to collapse so that he could put her to bed.

Would he be happy that his girl was being looked after by a powerful man?  Or would he be horrified if he caught a glimpse of the finger-shaped bruises on my legs?  He had had great respect for Mr. Hiddleston, saying that he ran his business better than any of the other bootleggers in the city.  Da had been fiercely loyal to Tom.  And I knew that Tom had valued my father’s services in return.  Until that night.  The end.

My breath hitched, my mind turning to the brightly lit hospital room, my father bandaged at chest and leg and his own breath wheezing and sticky-wet.  He had been shot, protecting Tom.  The bullet had gone through his lung.  They had been inspecting a warehouse, Tom checking the imports before he distributed them.  And that’s when Clayton’s hitmen struck.  The other guards didn’t make it.  Da had pushed Tom out of the building ahead of him, shielding him as they ran.  Tom hadn’t escaped unscathed, but he managed to get my father to the hospital with him, half dragging him to do it, unwilling to leave his trusted guard to die.

And then I was in that sparsely furnished room, perched in a rickety chair, holding Da’s hand desperately while doctors shook their heads and spoke to me in gentle voices that I didn’t hear.  There were no tears in my eyes but my heart was pounding, my legs bouncing with anxious energy.  A nurse tried to pull me away, saying nonsense in a coaxing tone.  I shrugged her off, clinging harder to Da’s hand.  He was dying.  He was, in all the important ways, already dead.  He would never open his eyes again.  Never see me again.

She wouldn’t leave me alone, despite my disinterest in “taking a break,” until Tom had stepped into the room.  He told her to go away, in a gentle but firm voice.  She scuttled out as quick as a mouse with no protests.  Tom sat beside me in another chair, his legs spread wide, one knee brushing my thigh.  One arm was in a sling, the cloth a blinding white against the black of his sweater.  A bullet had gone through the muscle near his elbow.  I remember the way he looked, solemn but kind, his eyes red but clear, his hair in disarray and sticking up but still so dignified. 

He didn’t say anything for a long time, content just being there.  It comforted me.  It was almost like an embrace.  I felt safe, calmer just by being in his presence.  Mr. Hiddleston would know what to do.  He would take care of everything, like he did with his business.  All I had to do was to be here, to say goodbye to my father, to ease his final moments as I could.  Mr. Hiddleston would handle the rest; calm, cool, in control.

Finally, he laid his fingers on my father’s leg.  “Thank you, Mattie,” he said quietly, his voice tight and restrained, almost choked.  I could feel his eyes on me then, intense but kind.  “I know you love him dearly.  You are as brave as he was, Miss Brown.  You will make it through this.”

Tears stung my eyes.  No one had ever called me brave and I certainly didn’t feel it then.  I felt small, terrified, quivering on a precipice that I didn’t want to fall from.  But he said it with such quiet, firm conviction that there was no arguing with him.  The words wormed their way into my heart and hibernated, there for me to pull out when I needed them.  And I needed them, often, in the months following Da’s death.

We had never spoken of it, that night; sitting together by my father’s deathbed watching every breath to see if it would be his last.  I had gone back to being his secretary a week later.  He had seen my red-rimmed eyes, I was sure, heard my muted sniffles at my desk.  And I had seen the way he looked for my father at the door, the way he had to correct his new guard which he’d never done with Da.  Both of us had continued on without a word about it.

In my chair, I brushed away the tears that always accompanied that memory.  Da had been gone five years now.  I made myself look at the picture on the wall.  “Ma would be angry, wouldn’t she?” I whispered to it, a sad smile twitching at my lips.  He and I had been so close, united to withstand my mother’s drunken tirades.  “You’d think she’d be happy about him being rich and all, but she’d be angry about something…  She’d probably yell that that I let him rip my underwear.”   _Or that I let him tell me what to do and call me his slut._

I took a shaky breath.  “What about you, Da?  I don’t know what we are, Tom and I… But he makes me feel so-“  I paused, searching for the right word.  “Not happy.  I mean, I’m happy.  But it’s more than that.  He makes me feel… me.”  I laughed awkwardly, talking to a picture and making no sense to boot.   _I must sound like a loon._

I brought my feet up onto the chair cushion, wrapping my arms around my knees.  That was it though.  Tom made me feel like myself.  No masks, no acting, no lies.  I didn’t  _think_  with him in the passion he inspired, didn’t worry or doubt while I was in his arms.  I could truly be myself with him.  He saw me for who I was- and sought me out for it.  He saw what I wanted and gave it to me with nothing but encouragement.  He called me filthy names, fucked me into the floor, and stroked my hair afterwards.  The things he said to me- I shivered at the memory,  _his dirty slut, his wet slick whore_ -  he didn’t say them to hurt me.   Because coming from him, they weren’t insults.  They were  _praise_.  Delicious, dark, erotic praise, each word sliding into my mind, coaxing me, teasing out my desires, indulging them.

My mind skated around the question I didn’t want to think about.  Did Tom feel the same way about me?  And, even scarier, if he did- what were we?  For how long, how much, how…  I dropped my head to my knees, frustrated.  I would spend the night with him tomorrow, I knew that.  What happened after that? 

Did it really matter?  I would enjoy every dirty word said in that low, British voice, every tug on my hair, every caress of his skin whether our tryst lasted lasted a week or years.  My fingertips traced over my lips absently, the feel of his lips easy to recall.  The kiss he had given me, so sweet, so full of command.  Soft pressure from his lips demanding that I open for him.  His tongue leading mine to dance in his mouth.  Wet, warm, taking what I gave, asking for more… 

With a sigh, I unfolded from the chair and headed back to the kitchen to make some dinner.  I stumbled to a halt when I walked past the calendar on the wall.  I looked again-

Lunch.  Tomorrow. 

With Jasper.

I closed my eyes.  How had I forgotten about that?  I had, in fact, forgotten about Jasper entirely in the last few passionate days with Tom.  My fists opened and closed anxiously.  I had to break it off with him.  It didn’t matter what Tom and I were or weren’t-  _but, God, please let us be something_ \- I had to tell Jasper it was over.

I snorted at myself.  As if we had a relationship.  I had met him at The Green Frog, the noisy, slightly seedy speakeasy that my friends and I frequented.  He had been adorable, inviting me to dance with his cheeks flaming red and unable to meet my eyes.  He had had me nearly doubled over laughing by the end of the night and when he asked if I would join him there the next night, I’d said yes.

A few meals, a few dances, a few stolen caresses, in nearly a month of dating.  Nothing at all like the passionate, clothes-tearing affair that I was having with Tom.  It was almost laughable how quickly Tom had gotten me on my knees with his cock in my mouth, then begging beneath him, eager for more, desperate to give him the same satisfaction in return.

I paced, full of nervous energy.  I did not want to  _date_  Jasper- but I didn’t want to hurt him either.  I had never been the one on this side of it.  I had always been the one fighting back tears and nodding my understanding, not trusting my voice as my heart broke and the man walked away.  I could only hope Jasper had as casual feelings for me as I did for him.  I certainly didn’t want to tell him why I was ending it.  Hopefully, I could give him a vague excuse without mentioning Tom-

Then I froze, ice coursing through my veins.  I shuddered, rubbing the sudden goosebumps on my arms. What was I going to say to  _Tom_?


	4. What Sort of Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate is nervous about breaking up with her boyfriend so that she can be with Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH SMUT. There are at least 3 more chapters in this story. 20’s slang: brown plaid- Scotch whiskey; doll- a woman; quiff- a slut or cheap prostitute; fella- a man; bird- a man; drugstore cowboy- a well-dressed man who loiters in public areas to pick up women; work someone over- interrogate/beat/torture someone; to pinch- to arrest or kidnap.

I had had butterflies in mystomach all morning.  I couldn’t eatbreakfast.  My hands shook- justslightly- but enough that I had dropped my keys locking my door.  I was jittery and uneasy, startling at every little noise on the trolley and in the office. I kept practicing over and over what I would say, how I would handle each man- both Tom and Jasper.

I had decided, eventually, that I would not tell Tom about Jasper.  He didn’t  _really_ need to know, since I was breaking it off with Jasper today.  I would tell him I had plans for lunch with a friend- that wasn’t a  _lie_ \- and then I would return this afternoon a free woman.  Free to spend the weekend with Tom, which would no doubt involve all manner of delightfully filthy acts.

I knew I was walking a fine line.  The “not technically a lie” excuse was flimsy given any kind of scrutiny.  Tom was not tolerant of liars; if I lied to him, he very well might fire me, as his secretary- and his starling.  Tears stung my eyes at the thought.  Not hearing his growl in my ear, feeling his grip in my hair, his lips on my neck-

But it was just as likely that the truth would get me the same reaction.

I shifted in my seat, pressing my hands to my belly in a vain attempt to calm my stomach.  The clock on the wall read eleven.  I would need to leave soon to make my “date.”  Just two days ago, I would have just stuck my head in Tom’s office and mentioned that I was going out for lunch and would be back in an hour. He would have nodded, barely paying me any mind.  And that would have been that.

Now, though.  Now I wanted to twine my arms around his neck, to kiss him goodbye before I left. It seemed silly when I thought about it. Tom wasn’t the type for a sappy hug and a kiss farewell.  But even if I couldn’t do that, I felt like I should tell him more about where I was going than just that I was going.

I walked through his door as steadily as I could but stopped halfway into Tom’s office.  He was at his desk in his shirtsleeves, reading the newspaper which was held, precisely folded, in his hand.  His other elbow was propped on the blotter, his fingers rubbing his neck absently.  I suddenly, desperately, didn’t want to go to lunch.  I was seized with the urge to crawl under his desk, take him in my mouth and suck on him like a straw until he spilled down my throat.  It was so strong that I took another step forward before I had realized it.

“Mr. Hiddleston-”  No, that didn’t sound right at all anymore.  I took a deep, reluctant breath.  “Tom.  I- I have a lunch- I mean, I’m meeting a friend for lunch and I- I need to leave soon-”

Tom looked up from his paper.  His gaze lingered on my face, slowly changing from polite interest to burning intensity.  I shoved down the urge to squirm under his exam, his scrutiny seeming to reach all the way to my soul.  The paper was placed carefully to the side so that he could give me his full attention, watching me with those piercing blue eyes.

“Where did you say you were going, Miss Brown?” he asked politely, casually, belying the intensity of his stare.

“Oh.  I, um,” I stumbled over my words.  This was not going how I had practiced in my head.  I sounded exactly like I had something to hide.  I tried to calm my nerves, reminding myself that he didn’t need to know about Jasper.  It would only complicate things.  “I’m having… a lunch date- with a friend.”

“There’s something more to it than that, isn’t there, starling?”  His voice was soft, coaxing, but with a hard edge hidden in it.  He slowly stood and prowled towards me, placing each foot with graceful deliberation, poetry in motion.  ”What is it, though?” he mused in the same tone as he came inexorably closer.

A hot rush of fear coursed through me, sweat prickling at my armpits and backs of my knees.  I bit back a whimper, in my mind seeing everything crashing down around me.  My imagination easily conjured the scene: Tom furious, casting me out for my secret, Jasper gone, and me sobbing alone in my apartment at the loss.  But as I watched him, as I let him corral me towards the couch, I realized that my only hope was to come clean and tell him the truth- and hope that he wouldn’t hold it against me.  

“I… I’m having lunch… with a friend, a kind of, boyfriend… I was g-going to- to end it and…  _Tom_ …”  The last came out as a plaintive whine despite my efforts to stay calm.  I was trembling, not with fear of him, but with the fear of losing him- he who brought me to such blissful heights, who saw what I needed and who wanted to give it to me, who was so solid and strong and didn’t seem to care that I wasn’t.

He moved closer and I retreated, until the backs of my legs hit the couch.  His mouth was set in a stern line, his beautiful eyes clouded.  He wasn’t exactly menacing… but he wasn’t reassuring either.  

“You have a lover?”

“Oh, no!” I said quickly, desperate to reassure him, to try to dig myself out of this situation.  I forced myself to meet his eyes, hoping he could see the truth in mine.  ”No, it’s only been three weeks- it’s casual… we haven’t even kissed…”

He caught my shoulders in a gentle grip and drew me close.  His hands framed my face, thumbs stroking over my lips. “The boy doesn’t know what he’s missing, then,” he murmured, his eyes on my lips as they parted slightly on a relieved sigh from his touch.  ”Kissing you is one of my favorite parts.  Your sweet, pink little mouth, so hot and wet and eager.  So talented.  And you become so wanton when I kiss you, pressing your body against mine, offering yourself to me.”  He leaned forward, catching me in a kiss that started soft and ended demanding, his hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer to him, turning us subtly.

With a hand behind my neck and one at the small of my back, he eased me onto the couch beneath him.  ”Spread your legs, Miss Brown,” came his quiet order, watching my face closely for any reluctance on my part.  

I did as he asked with no hesitation, hiking my skirt up to my knees to do so, and he knelt between them, looming over me, his hands pressed to the leather on either side of my head.  He was all I could see, his scent filling the air, his eyes searching mine, dark with lust.  The look made my heart beat faster, a beat I could feel in both my chest and my cunt

“This boy,” he murmured, cocking an eyebrow.  “What is he like?  How did he catch you?”  

I swallowed with an audible click, wanting nothing more than his mouth on mine again. “What… sir… what- does it matter?”  I couldn’t look away from his gaze.

“No, I suppose not.  I’m merely curious.”  He dipped his head to nibble at my neck, sucking lightly on the tender skin.  “What sort of boy could interest you enough to date but you’d be so eager to drop now.”

I flushed, half from embarrassment, half from his attentions. “I don’t want him-”  The air left my lungs in a rush as he bit under my ear. “To- to interfere with us- I mean, this-”   _God, you idiot, don’t say “us,” don’t make him think you’re assuming-_  “He’s nice, I guess, funny,” I babbled, flustered. “But not… oh God,” I whimpered as he licked a stripe up to my ear, his breathing heavy and just a little fast.

I knew I should stop him.  I would be late if we continued, but how could I tell him to wait?  I didn’t want to wait.  I could feel his desire rolling off him in waves, held tight behind his will but ready to break free and ravage me when he chose to.  I would much rather be here, trapped by his lean, hard body, than on my way to end it with Jasper.  But if I let him continue, Jasper would know exactly why I was late…

He could tell what I was thinking.  He could read me like a book, he always could, even before all of this- whatever it was.  ”Oh yes, darling.  I am going to send you off with your hair disheveled.  Your skin flushed.  And my come dripping down your thighs.  Just like the good little slut you are.”

A small moan escaped me, my back arching just slightly in enticement, muscles clenching to quell the sudden ache inside me.   _God, yes_ \- just the thought of feeling that slow, wet drip down my leg had heat pooling between them, the gentle throbbing beat becoming more insistent, more demanding now.  

"Such a dirty girl," he purred.  "You like that idea, hmm?  Going to see your boyfriend so full of my seed that it slides down your skin, reminding you that you’re  _mine_?”

One hand curled in my hair, tight and possessive on the last word. His lips sealed to mine, tongue thrusting into my mouth as I opened to him, taking all that I was willing to give him. I floated on the fierce way he had said it, basking in his possession of me.  His desire to have me, all of me, no masks, no lies.

He leaned back, but his eyes never left mine, watching me as he ran his hands up my thighs, pushing my skirt ahead of them.  I tried to suppress my smile and the urge to giggle in anticipation of what he would find.  His palm molded to my mound and when he found nothing but my short curls there, his eyes widened and his breath stuttered.

"Oh," he breathed, almost reverently, his reaction everything I had hoped for.  " _Naughty girl._ Forgot your knickers, did you?”  One long finger rubbed against my lips slowly before dipping inside.  ”And so  _wet_ , just like a good little quiff…”  A long slow thrust filled me and I bowed when he curled the digit inside.  ”So _very_ wet, starling.  My  _God_ …”

His finger retreated, leaving me empty again.  He drew wet patterns on the top of my thigh, watching me with his tongue held between his teeth.  He licked his lips deliberately, making sure that I saw, while his free hand loosened his tie.

"Sir, sir please," I whined.  I canted my hips up, wanton invitation, desperate to ease the now raging empty ache in me.  I wanted him to plunge into me, all of him in one long stroke, to take me hard and fast and to prove that I belonged to him by making my body dance to his music. The music of hips slapping, of wet skin on skin, of gasps and groans and joyful curses.

Tom slid off the couch, kneeling on the floor.  His large warm hands slid under my legs and pulled me to the edge.  He grinned wolfishly up from between my thighs, again making sure I was watching him before he placed a sweet, chaste kiss just above my clit.

"Oh, starling," he murmured.  "Look how ready you are for me, look how flush and plump you are… Soaking wet, just for me." He inhaled deeply.  "You smell like pure fucking  _sex_ , starling.”

I squirmed, self-conscious and aroused by his examination, my eager body at war with my nervous mind until his arm pinned my hips firmly to the couch. He looked up at me, full of patient command, long fingers popping open the first few buttons on his shirt.

"Stay still, Miss Brown," he ordered coolly.  "I am going to bury my face in this pretty pink cunt until you are begging for mercy.  Until your come is _dripping_  down my chin.”  A long, wet lick up my slit had my body trying to arc upwards, but his grip remained strong, unyielding.  ”Although it does not seem like that will take very long. Eager little slut,” he said with affection.

Another slow lick up, pausing just a moment to flick his tongue against my clit.  He took his time, testing my responses, as if I had no where else to be and we had all the time in the world.  He would suck hard on my clit until I was taut beneath his arm and keening with need, then he would scrape his teeth lightly over my lips or nip at my thighs until I relaxed again.  His mouth was everywhere, hot and wet and  _starving_.  I whined and moaned and squirmed, my breath fast as he plunged his tongue into me, tasting me with abandon.  

I thrashed in his grip when he fluttered against my clit, teasing fast, light strokes that drove me crazy.  I needed more, so much more of him, of friction, of grinding and sliding. I was mad with need, my eyes screwed shut, my head thrown back.  I hadn’t realized my hands had moved from being clenched at my sides until I felt his soft waves in my fingers.  I was about to snatch them back when he chuckled against my cunt, the vibrations making me shudder.

"That’s it," he growled, rubbing his nose against my clit. "Be my good little whore. Fuck yourself on to my mouth, starling. Let me  _taste_  you.”

My fingers tightened in his hair by instinct, pulling his head closer as my hips rose.  He removed his arm, giving me the freedom to buck against him however I wanted.  My mind rebelled, telling me I was being selfish and too eager and not ladylike at all and that I should hold back lest I embarrass myself.

My body, though, would have none of it.  It was more than willing to do whatever it took to reach my orgasm, even if it had to pull out Tom’s hair by the roots.

"Oh, that’s perfect, starling," Tom encouraged, as if he could hear my inner battle.  "Ride my tongue.  Show me how desperate you are for me, darling…  You are fucking divine; such a wicked, precious slut for me to play with."

"Please… please, sir…" I whimpered.  His mouth was incredible, bringing me so close to the edge and back, torturous delight.  But I wanted,  _needed_ to feel his hard cock filling me, driving into me, his hips slamming into mine.  ”Please, I n-need- ohh…”

He raised his head, his lips, cheeks, and chin shiny wet.  ”What was that, sweet little whore?” he purred while he nipped at the soft flesh of my inner thigh.  ”Need to come?”

I blushed bright red, unsure of how to ask for what I wanted.  I stared at the ceiling, unable to look at him. “Yes, but I-“

The rest of my plea trailed off into a surprised squeak.  He drove his fingers into me again, dragging them out slowly to plunge in fast once more.  It was so good, being filled while his mouth still sucked and nipped and licked. I rocked and rutted as he thrust and soon, he was holding his hand still, bent at just the right angle, letting me drive myself higher.  I couldn’t stop the flow of small, pleading sounds I was making, my body riding his hand and mouth hard with complete abandon, the  _need_  to come pushing all other thoughts from my head.

My hands clenched in his hair as the world exploded in white light.  My thighs slammed closed on his head while my back arched, every part of me clutching him closer, keeping him from pulling away.  I couldn’t stop the choked whimpers, seeing brilliant, flashing, sparkling colors behind my eyelids, frozen in time for an instant that was too long and over too soon.

I was still whimpering when he moved me, pushing my body up into the corner of the couch.  My legs were wrapped around his waist as he grasped the back of the furniture, pressing me back hard, his face twisted in a hungry, determined snarl.  He was half off the couch, one knee on the cushion and one foot on the floor.  My body was curled into the leather, my vision filled by his chest and glimpses of his skin down his open collar, his blue tie loose and swinging wildly.

"Fuck, Kate, I need you  _now_.  God, you taste fantastic,” he muttered as he ripped at his fly.  ”I’m so fucking hard for you, starling.  I am going to drive into that dripping cunt and fuck you cross-eyed.”

I ran my hands up his arms and over his shoulders just as he plunged and my breath flew out of me in a rush.  He reared back, grabbing my wrists and pinning them to the back of the couch above my head.  His fingers burned hot on the sensitive skin, his grip strong and firm when I moved to reach for him.  He pressed me back down, looming over me.

"No," he murmured, ghosting kisses over my face.  I could smell my body on him and I made a small, longing sound.  "No, right now you’re my little fucktoy.  I will hold you down and use you-"

I clenched around him, his words surging through me like lightning.  _Oh god yes, **yes**_ \- I wanted him to claim me, own me, take away any choice I had and any guilt or worry I felt about how it was for him, was I good enough, was I doing enough, was I being too much-

"Use you for my pleasure," he grunted, pounding harder into me.  "My sweet plaything.  Just use you to get me off-"  He gasped when I canted my hips up, pushing desperately against him for friction on my clit.  "Fuck, Kate, you are so tight…  Such a tight, wet hole for me…"

I whined at his words, rocking under him in encouragement, my legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him closer.  I rutted against him, so close,  _so close_ … His fingers tightened almost painfully on my wrists and I was hurtling into space, crying out his name in prayer, gratitude, worship.  I pumped my hips against his, trying to ride the wave of pleasure as long as I could, thighs clamping down on him, trying to hold him closer, just like before.

He groaned, his eyes rolling up before he closed them.  “Holy God, starling- oh holy God, you feel so good clenching around me like that,” he managed through gritted teeth.  His head fell back on his neck, thrusting hard into me, so deep, so strong.  “My sweet dirty girl, such a slut for me to use… oh  _God_!”  He shuddered, his own words sending him over the edge, and his back bowed as he came, my name drawn out into one long moan that ended in a stutter.

He collapsed on me, releasing my wrists, his whole body going limp. His chest rose and fell on mine, his breath panting in my ear.  I felt an insane urge to giggle from joy.  I felt incredible.  Happy and light, even though every muscle felt leaden and heavy.  Tom was nearly a dead weight on top of me, making catching my own breath difficult, but I didn’t care at all.  I felt safe and secure under his weight like this, and I savored the chance to hold him.  I twisted my fingers gently in the damp hair at the nape of his neck while he recovered.

"Starling," he groaned into my neck a few minutes later. " _Fuck_.  So fucking good.”

I fought back the laugh threatening to bubble up.  A dozen responses drifted through my mind, but by the time I had chosen one, he was sitting up, pulling me out of the cramped position I had been in.  He picked up my hands, examining my wrists carefully, rubbing his thumbs over the veins on the underside with a tenderness that raised goosebumps on my arms.  His face was thoughtful as he brushed a kiss to each one.

_Come with me,_ I wanted to blurt out.   _I don’t want to do this- come with me and do it for me._ I didn’t say it out loud, though.  I knew  _I_  had to break up with Jasper and having my new lover come with me was no way to handle that situation.  I sat quietly and watched while he completely untucked his shirt from his pants.  Slender fingers resettled the fabric, doing up his zipper and then setting to work on the open buttons of his shirt.  He undid his tie, shook it out briefly, and slid it back under his collar.

Struck by a sudden wave of boldness, I got to my feet and stood in front of him.  ”Let me, sir,” I murmured, reaching up to grasp the ends of the tie.  It was cool and slick in my fingers as I tied the knot with careful efficiency.  I adjusted it and then smiled shyly up at him.

His eyes were dark and soft before his hands tangled in my hair and he kissed me, sweet and slow and smoldering until I was swaying on my feet.

“Starling?” he asked, pulling back and releasing me.

“Yes, sir?”

“Hurry back.”

I smiled again, this time bright and cheerful, feeling as if I could handle whatever I had to, with his affection glowing in my skin.  “Yes, sir.”

*****

That feeling had faded by the time I reached the restaurant, which wasn’t that far.  I had spent the trolley ride over imagining every terrible scenario in my head and I had managed to make myself sick with anxiety.  I stood outside the B/G, looking at the bright painted letters on the windows declaring how convenient their service was, but I didn’t really see them.  I didn’t want to go into that sandwich shop, I didn’t want to sit down across from Jasper and break his heart.  I had never ended a relationship before.  My hands twisted in front of me.  I had to go inside.  I was already late.  Standing outside like a rube in the city for the first time wouldn’t make things any easier.

With every reluctant step, though, I savored the slippery, wet feeling between my legs.  I felt deliciously naughty, walking into the shop, panty-less, with Tom’s come and mine slicking my thighs.  I should feel embarrassed or mortified- and I could tell that my cheeks were hotter than normal- but I floated on the knowledge of Tom’s claim on me.  The physical evidence of his interest in me, his lust for me.  Me, the meek, mediocre paper-pusher.  Me, who few ever noticed at all.  He wanted me, with a passion I had never experienced.  And I wanted him.  And right now, nothing else mattered.

I spotted Jasper near the end of one of the rows of identical tables, his dark hair slicked back against his skull.  The restaurant was only half full so far, but more customers would be piling in soon- in fact, a gaggle of diners was piling in right behind me.  There were two plates on his table; Jasper had ordered for me, which was crushingly thoughtful of him, given what I was about to do.  I sighed, allowing myself a moment to feel all my fear and misery, then locked them away and made my way to the table.

“Hey, Kate!” Jasper’s face lit up when he saw me.  ”I got you a cream cheese and olive, and a cherry soda, ‘cause that’s what you got the last time and I thought since you were late that I’d save some time and-“

I sat down in the wooden chair across from him as he continued to babble, his hands waving and flapping as he somehow got on the topic of his landlord and a broken pipe in the apartment down the hall from him.  I couldn’t help but smile at the way he told the story, even while my stomach twisted into tighter and tighter knots. _You have to tell him.  You have to tell him.  Do it now, open your mouth and_ say _something._ No matter how much I ordered myself to, though, my mouth stayed closed. _It’s not the right time yet.  Let him finish his story.  Wait for the right moment._

I shifted in my seat.  There was a warm trickle between my legs when I did and I recalled what Tom had said to keep myself on track,  _"Going to see your boyfriend so full of my seed that it slides down your skin, reminding you that you’re_ mine _.”_

"Oh, Kate, you haven’t eaten anything yet!  Did I get the wrong sandwich?" Jasper suddenly blurted in the middle of a new story- this one about his boss.  The man loved to chatter.  "Oh, what’s  _that_  look about?” he asked, a bit hopeful.

I realized that a smile had crept onto my face as I thought about Tom’s words.  I tried to squash it, embarrassed, but the corners of my mouth kept twitching up, that giddy, giggly feeling from our tryst on the couch returning, even through the knots in my stomach.

"No, this is fine, Jasper, I just… I just…"  I stared down at my lunch, the soft white bread looking entirely unappealing at the moment.  I tried to plan out what I wanted to say-  _"Jasper, you are so sweet and funny, but I’ve met someone else who fits me better"_ \- but my mind wandered right past that speech to Tom, waiting for me at the office. And his hands.  And his lips.  And-

I could hear Tom whispering in my ear so clearly that I nearly turned to look for him.  I could practically feel his breath hot on my skin.   _"Dirty little starling.  Thinking such filthy thoughts, aren’t you?  Don’t you want to share them with me?"_   His fingers would trail down my spine, so lightly, and even though he wasn’t here, the thought raised goosebumps on my arms.   _"I can do such things to you, starling, things that boy has never even dreamed.  I could have you bent over this table and whimpering my name in that delightful begging you do before he even knew what was going on.  I’d bend you far enough over that you could grasp the other side, my cock hard and thick in your soaking cunt, stretching you open.  My hand on your back, holding you down for my pleasure, oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you?  My dirty slut…"_

"Jasper, I can’t see you any more," I blurted, my carefully planned speech completely forgotten.

Jasper blinked, leaning back in his chair and tugging on his ear. “What?  What are you talking about, Kate?”

I was on the spot now, my face flushed and my whole body too warm for comfort. I said the first thing that came to my mind.  ”I, uh, I’m moving.  Moving out of the city.  So, you know, it’d be hard to keep this up…”  I reached for my drink and busied myself fiddling with the straw and taking a sip.

"Horsefeathers," Jasper said mildly.

I looked up at that, confused.  He was watching me with a sad little quirk on his lips.

"You’ve got another fella.  I can tell, you’re acting very strange."  He didn’t seem particularly bothered by the idea that I had cheated on him.  "But mostly because of the hickey on your neck."

My fingers flew to my throat.  I had forgotten all about the dark purple mark that Tom had put there last night.  And he hadn’t said anything about it when I left the office… I was caught between the shame of such an obvious mark and annoyance that I had forgotten about it, but at the same time I was grateful for the opening.  Maybe I could tell him some of the truth without stumbling over every word now.

"What’s he like?  He isn’t just a drugstore cowboy, is he?  You deserve better than that."

The blush burned hot across my cheeks and I was stuttering an answer before I thought about it.  ”He… he…”  I was struck by the realization that Tom had asked me the same thing and that I had been just as flustered and unable to answer when I had been talking about Jasper as I was about Tom.   _He pins me down and fucks me hard enough to bruise.  I have never felt so amazing as when he calls me names and praises me in the dirtiest language I’ve ever heard.  He’s hard and rough and dangerous and he holds me and calms me and kisses my wrists with such tenderness-_  “Um…”

"I’m sorry, Kate, that was a rude thing to ask, huh?"  Jasper scratched at his scalp, looking down. "You don’t have to answer that. I was just… a little curious, you know?  I thought things were pretty copacetic between us, and I’m just wondering what kind of fella… It’s okay, though.  I don’t want to know.  You can date whoever you want.  Just be sure he treats you nice, all right?  You’re such a nice girl- I mean I didn’t expect you to have another guy, since you’re so quiet and all, but I guess-"  He was babbling again.

I nodded in a bit of of a daze.   _Nice girl.  Too quiet to be interesting._ That’s how he had seen me, that’s how everyone had always seen me.  It’s how I saw myself, or at least how I allowed myself to act.  Except with Tom, when I was dirty and sexy and fascinating.  It was why I wanted so badly to stay with him.

I hadn’t expected Jasper to take this so well.  I had imagined he would be angry or annoyed or heartbroken. I hadn’t anticipated an amicable parting, but maybe I should have, knowing that Jasper was such a cheerful soul. He really didn’t seem the type to get overly jealous or upset at much of anything.  And, if he hadn’t been that attached to me- which I had no idea about- then it had been presumptuous of me to think he’d have reacted strongly at all.

"Thank you," I said, hoping I sounded as sincere as I felt. "I’m sorry it didn’t work, Jasper. Let me pay you back for our lunches-"

"No, no, it’s fine," he said as he gathered up his coat and hat, reaching out to shake my hand goodbye.  "Really, Kate.  You finish yours, don’t you worry anything about me.  I’ve got to be getting back to work.  I hope you’re really happy with this new bird.  I do."

And, despite having the feeling that I  _should_  feel guilty or sad about this break up, all I could think as I watched him walk towards the door was that Tom’s ass looked much better in a pair of suit trousers than Jasper’s did.

*****

I walked into Tom’s office, my brow furrowed with concern.  Where was he?  The guards were still at the door, so it was unlikely that he had left.  And he wasn’t the type to go sit on the fire escape.  I glanced around the abandoned room, stepping further inside.  An arm came around my waist and pulled me back against a lean body. A hand covered my mouth, stifling my shriek.  I arched away from the hard chest, my heart pounding and a handful of terrified thoughts skittering through my brain, until I registered the spicy scent in the air and the velvet chuckle in my ear.

"So sorry to startle you, starling," Tom laughed, in a smug voice that made it abundantly clear that he was not sorry at all.

I shivered at his voice, smooth and pitched low, so close to my ear.  I relaxed in his grip, letting my head tip back onto his shoulder.  He must have heard me coming and wanted to- what?  Surprise?  Scare? I felt his heart beating slow and steady against my spine, reassuring.  No, not scare.  If it were anyone else, I would have said that this was an excuse to hold me, with his arms wrapped tight around me and his hands splayed wide to touch as much of me as he could.  

But this was Thomas Hiddleston.  He was calm and cool, always in control.  He would only have to say the word and I would be wherever he wanted me. Affection like that, that wasn’t what was between us.  I thought. I had wondered on the way back to the office if he would ask me about Jasper and how lunch had gone.  Would he ask for details about what I had said to the other man?  Or would he say nothing, not interested about what I had been doing?  I couldn’t decide which I was more afraid of- the thorough grilling or the indifference.  One could mean that he cared, the other could mean he didn’t.  Or one could mean that he didn’t trust me, the other that he did. But this- this embrace was nothing like I was expecting.  He seemed almost… playful.

I tried to wiggle out of his grip so that I could look at him.  I wanted to see his face so that I could gauge his mood.  Which was it, what was he feeling, what were we?  I wanted to ask, wanted to tell him that I was his and that I wanted to be his in every way and ask if he felt the same.  I wasn’t brave enough to do it, though.  I couldn’t face the possible answer, that it might take away what we had- whatever it was.

He tightened his arms around me, one forearm banded across my waist, the other across my chest, his hand covering my breast.  He hummed into my hair, nibbling on my ear as my nipple hardened under his palm.  I was trapped and it was obvious to both of us from my body’s reaction that it was exactly what I wanted.  HIs fingers massaged my breast, slow and gentle and almost absently.  

"Did you end things with the boy?  He’s not going to come after me, looking to settle a score is he?" I could hear the smirk in Tom’s voice.

“No, he took it very well,” I sighed as his fingers plucked at my nipple through my dress, starting up a subtle throbbing beat between my legs.  “He didn’t seem to really care at all…”

“Good.  I have enough people to work over right now.”

I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but all that came out was a soft, wanton moan when his fingers started to pinch and tug, my body bowing up into his touch, silently begging for more.  He continued speaking as if he had no idea what his fingers were doing or that his hard cock was pressing against me.

"Franklin found our rat.  He works under Jenkins- a Mr. Nick Barrett.  I’ve already sent Mickey to pinch him.  I’ll have to cut our weekend short to work him over-"  He stopped suddenly.  "I’m sorry, Kate.  You don’t need to hear the gritty details."

The thought of this Nick Barrett being beaten until he confessed, or the thought of Tom ordering it and watching it be done, was not a pleasant one. But it also wasn’t one I was unfamiliar with.  I grew up in the underworld of quasi legal crime, long before Tom had built this particular organization.  After all, my father had earned his living as one of the men who administered those sorts of beatings, at least until he became a bodyguard.  Not that it kept his hands clean.  I knew- though thankfully had never witnessed- the realities of a gangster’s business.  Rats and snitches had to be made an example of.  Especially the type who didn’t just defect to another boss, but stayed as a spy. Who knew what information Barrett had given Clayton?  Not just tips on lucrative deals or contraband  that could be stolen, but names and even addresses.  Barrett could have sold us all out- including me.

"Enough about that.  I’ll take care of him tomorrow.  Although I do hate to work on a Saturday."  Tom blew a stream of cool air on my neck, making me shiver, before nipping at my skin.  "I’ll just have to have you here and now, to make up for our lost weekend."

He nibbled on my earlobe briefly as he walked towards his desk, pushing me ahead of him without letting me go.  His mouth never stopped moving over my neck, his late-day stubble creating a delicious burn.  I was shaking in his grasp by the time he sat, legs sprawled wide apart, in one of the chairs opposite the desk from his own.

He turned me to face him, his hands slowly raising my skirt until it was bunched around my waist.  He pulled me onto his leg so that I straddled his thigh, his grasp on my hips warm and strong.  Blue eyes searched my face for a moment, as if he were memorizing me, and then he was kissing me, deep and thorough and intense.  Intoxicating.

I hadn’t even realized that I was rocking slowly on his leg until I heard his soft laugh against my lips.

His mouth pressed to my ear and his words sank directly into my brain as he whispered, “Desperate little whore,” with soft affection.  I trembled, unable to bite back a longing sigh, his voice like dark honey.  His teeth tugged on my earlobe.  ”You want to come, don’t you?  Just a few kisses and you’re already writhing on my leg, so needy, so eager…”

Tom moved one hand from my hip, sliding his fingers between his thigh and my wet lips, pressing them against me.  I gasped and shifted, trying to angle myself so that he could slip inside, but he never did, a wicked look in his eyes.

"Go on, starling," he whispered again, directly in my ear, so loud but so soft.  "Make yourself come for me.  Give me a show and I’ll fuck you so hard afterwards, you won’t be able to walk."

My head fell back on my neck as I moaned from just the thought, a new wave of slick arousal coating his fingers under me.  I moved, slowly, back and forth, savoring the oscillating pressure against my clit as I did.  I concentrated on that feeling, my eyes rolling shut, ignoring his fascinated stare, my head lolling back.

The phone rang.  

I froze, then snapped my head up in a panic, even though no one but Tom had seen me.  Tom calmly pulled his hand out from under me and reached for the handset, his fingers glistening.

"Keep going while I take this, Miss Brown."  

I gaped at him, even as naughty delight tickled down my spine at the detached way he always said “Miss Brown.”  He didn’t mean-

"I said, make yourself come, starling,” he growled- soft, quiet, demanding.  "Soak my leg while I’m on the phone, like a naughty wet little slut." His fingers wound in my hair, pulling my head back so that he could kiss me fiercely, stoking the fire in my body to a blaze.  I whined low in my throat when he let me go, my lips swollen and begging for more.  He pressed a finger to his own, shushing me silently as he picked up the handset.

"Cymbeline Electrics, Tom Hiddleston speaking."  His voice was calm, almost bored, even as he watched me begin to rock again on his leg.  "Yes, hello, Mr. Finch…"

His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he watched me.  His tongue flicked out to wet his lips and he nodded his encouragement.  The ache between my legs grew stronger, the need for more pressure, more friction on my clit slowly overwhelming my reluctance.  I shifted, biting my lip on a deep groan of satisfaction when my new position hit just the right spot.  I rutted slowly against the hard muscle of his thigh, hands digging hard into his shoulders for balance.

"I’m sorry to hear about that, Mr. Finch.  We will have to find a new foreman at the earliest convenience…"

My eyes rolled shut again, my head falling backwards as the pleasure built from my movements.  I felt his fingers grip my chin and they tugged my head up.  I opened my eyes to see Tom shake his head at me, expression stern. The command was clear.   _Eyes open_.  I shuddered, delicious hot prickling embarrassment flooding across my skin.  His smile was pure satisfaction as he watched the flush spread down my neck, disappearing under my dress.

"Of course, of course.  No, my secretary is… occupied at the moment.  Yes, Mr. Finch, I understand…"

Tom pressed the handset against his shoulder, keeping Mr. Finch- who I knew was quite the chatterbox- from hearing his words.  “Such a sight you are, grinding on my leg, so embarrassed, but so desperate to come.  Finish it, starling.  Let me watch you come undone.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes from his; they were hungry, commanding, taking in every detail, even as he calmly kept up his conversation.  I lost myself in his eyes, in the enjoyment he took in my display, moving faster and harder against him.

Soon I forgot everything but the blue of his eyes, the black of his wide pupils, the hard warmth of his thigh beneath me.  The slight scratch of fine wool between my legs becoming wetter and slicker as I rocked.  

I ground down hard, needing just a few more strokes to tip over the edge, to do as he asked.

I fell forward on his chest, biting his shirt and shoulder to stifle any sound as I shuddered and twisted, unnameable colors swimming through my brain, winding their way through my blood and bone to set me afire from within.  I slouched against him, my breath uneven and my limbs heavy.  I basked in the heavy, languid feeling, inhaling the scent of him- spice and musk and paper- soaking up his warmth, nearly purring at the hand that stroked down my back.

I didn’t even hear him hang up the phone.  The hand on my back slid up into my hair, pulling my head back.  And then he was kissing me, fierce and hungry, words mumbled against my lips, “ _Sweet Christ_ … Such a good girl… Kate…”

He pushed me off his leg and grabbed my shoulders, spinning me and bending me forward over his desk by pressing between my shoulder blades.  I grasped the edge of the wood as hands rucked up my skirt with quick efficiency and he kicked apart my legs until I was displayed the way he wanted.  I heard the sound of his belt and zipper hastily undone behind me.  I shivered as I imagined the wet spot on his pants as they fell to his ankles- the spot I had left there, grinding on him shamelessly.

“So pretty,” Tom cooed, long fingers smoothing over my buttocks.  I felt his cock rubbing in my folds, coating himself in my arousal.  He bumped my sensitive clit and I jumped, making him chuckle.  “My pretty little slut.  So slick.  So warm. Just for me.”

I whined low in my throat.  I may have come on his thigh, but now I was aching to be filled with him, and when he slid home in a long brutal push, I keened in gratitude.  He didn’t waste time, driving himself into me again and again, his hands digging into my hips.  Nearly every thrust hit something deep inside me that made me whimper in delight. It was delicious, incredible, but not quite enough and my noises became increasingly pleading and desperate.  I moved my hand between my legs to try to push myself over the edge, all the while rocking back against him.

“Ah-ah-ah, starling.”  Tom pinned my hand back to the desk with careful force.  “You’ll come when I say you can.”  

My body convulsed around him at that, my spine curving to take him deeper, a wanton moan escaping me.   _Oh God… oh God yes…_   

Tom squeezed my wrist firmly and chuckled, “You like that, sweet? Being mine.  Following my orders.  Being such a good, wet little quiff for me.”  He punctuated each word with a strong snap of his hips until I would have been begging beneath him if I could have formed the words.  Instead I pushed back to meet him, breathy urgent noises flowing freely from my mouth.

"So pretty," he said again, this time slightly breathless. "What pretty sounds you make, my little bird, when I’m inside you."

His hand finally left mine, two fingers finding their way on either side of my throbbing, neglected clit.  He rubbed with just short of enough pressure.  I let out a frustrated sob.  ”T-tom…”

"Come, Kate.  Come all over my cock, let me feel- oh  _yes_ -” he grunted with satisfaction as I did just that, bucking in his grip as my world narrowed to pure physical sensation and the sound of his voice.  ”Look at that, your body obeying me so easily, so readily… God, you are so… wet… so slick…”

His words were choked, forced through his gritted teeth, his hands squeezing tighter, tension obvious in every movement.  ”My sweet, sweet little slut…  pretty toy…”

I pressed my cheek into the wood of the desk, my mind floating detached from my body, letting his praise wash over me even as my thighs dug into the edge of the desk. I rejoiced in the way his control was shattered by my own orgasm and how he pulled my hips hard back against his, burying himself as deep as he could go as if needing to merge us into one body.

"Mine," he gasped, pressing his forehead to the nape of my neck, his cock still inside me.  "Mine. My starling…"


	5. A Bit to Handle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, FINALLY- an update! No smut in this chapter, but lots in the next- which should not take 7 months (so so sorry, thank you for sticking with me!!) I learned a lot researching this one- who wants to talk about the feminism of the 1920s with me?!
> 
> 20’s slang: brown plaid- Scotch whiskey; doll- a woman; to have an edge- to be tipsy; knocked up- get pregnant accidentally; flapper- young woman who flouts social conventions and is intent on enjoyment (of alcohol, sex, sports, etc).

It was too chilly tonight for Tom to drive with the top down on his Packard, which made the drive out of the city unexpectedly intimate.  I curled one leg under me, the padded leather seat comfortable and cool.  Tom’s hand, when not needed for gear changes, rested on my knee, the heat of him seeping through his gloves and my skirt.  

Tom had decided that he would let Barrett the rat sweat under the terrifying watch of his enforcers for a while before starting the interrogation sometime tomorrow, saying that would soften the bastard up.  I assumed that his seemingly insatiable sex drive and the very willing woman on his lap had had nothing to do with that decision, of course.

I leaned my head on the side flange, almost cozy despite the icy breeze from the gap between windshield and roof.  We drove in comfortable silence- and I don’t know why I was surprised by that. That was how we had worked for years: easily, comfortably, but quietly.  He valued his peace and I knew he had rejected other candidates for being too “chattery.”  My shy nature had always been like an asset in Mr. Hiddleston’s office.  

My first ride in this car, I had been a shaky ball of nerves, practically humming with uncertainty, sitting next to my boss-suddenly-turned-lover on the way to his house.  I had scooted as far into the corner of my seat as I could.  We had barely said a word the entire drive that time either but the silence was not comfortable or easy.  The glow from the intense sex in his office had lingered; my limbs still felt heavy and loose, but I had trouble relaxing.  I had been too unsure where the boundaries were, nervous about my ability to please him.

Now, watching the city glide past, I was calm… and happy.  I once again had that languid glow, my cheeks flushed from more than the cold, my neck still stinging from his scruff on my skin. I may not know everything that he wanted me to do- but I knew that I  _would_.  I would learn, just like I had learned his habits at the office.

Neither he nor my predecessor had told me exactly what to do as his secretary.  The basics were obvious- take a letter, keep track of meetings, answer the phone- but the details, the inner workings of his day… those I had to figure out for myself. And I had.  I learned that he liked the daily paper to be on his desk before he got there.  I knew that he took three sugars in his coffee, but only one in his tea.  And I knew when he needed two fingers of scotch instead of coffee.  The subtle nod he would give me when I handed him that scotch, golden and rich and unasked for, had made me feel as light as a feather and warm with pride.

I knew so much about him, his habits, his preferences.  I was already half his girlfriend, being his secretary. The leap to being his lover, as sudden as it was, didn’t seem as intimidating when I thought about it that way. I had no idea if he  _wanted_  a girlfriend or just sex, but that didn’t change my knowledge of him.  I sighed into the breeze and smiled, content.

Tom pulled the car into the driveway, elegant gloved fingers cranking the levers and dials to put on the brake and turn the car off.  The house was a massive brick and stone structure, cross-gabled roof reaching up above the elm trees surrounding it.  Light shone warmly out of the huge downstairs windows and the upper dormers.

My thin cotton coat was no match for the fading light and I shivered as Tom ushered me inside and nodded at William standing smartly at attention by the door.  The entryway was all rich, dark wood, the simple carved wainscoting wrapping around the room to the grand stairway on one side and the hallway on the other.  I let Tom slide my coat from my shoulders, my goosebumps having nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the way he pressed his nose into my hair and hummed deep in his throat.

“Thomas!”

Tom’s head jerked up and around, stepping back from me as if he had been burned.  “Mum!”

 _Mum?_ My breath caught in my throat and I choked back a cough.   _Mum?!_   I couldn’t look away from Tom’s shocked face- an expression I don’t think I’d ever seen on him. After a few moments, I tore my gaze away to look at the short elderly woman standing halfway up the polished stone staircase.  

“Where have you been!  I’ve been waiting for an hour.  You always work too late, darling-” she complained in a voice that echoed through the entryway, making her way down the steps, her eyes darting between Tom and me.  Her dress was conservative but fashionable and she might have looked comfortingly matronly if not for the severe, sour look on her face.  Despite her short stature, she had the same presence that Tom did, seeming to fill the room beyond her actual size.

“Mum… “ Tom seemed at a loss for words as his mother came closer, something else I’d never thought to witness.  “I thought you were staying with Sarah in Philadelphia for another week.”

The woman sniffed.  “There is only so much of screaming children that one can take.  Two weeks was too long for both of us.”  She moved her full attention to me.  I shrank under her examination.  She made no attempt to hide her eyes traveling over my clothes and hair, her mouth turning down as she did.  “ _You_  clearly didn’t expect me back so soon, Thomas.  What have you brought home?”

Her tone made it clear that she thought she knew exactly what I was- and it wasn’t his secretary.  And given what she had probably seen of Tom and me in the doorway…  I could feel the burn of the blush across my face and my eyes dropped to stare at her brooch, gold filigree with a detailed cameo.  Her stare was such a force that I could  _feel_  when it returned to Tom, my breath coming easier without its weight on me.

“Mum, this is…”  Tom trailed off briefly, making me wish I could sink into the floor.  What was he going to say?  He might as well say I  _was_  a skirt.  My eyes cut to him beside me and I saw his fist clench for a moment.  

“This is Miss Kate Brown.  My secretary. She’ll be joining us tonight,” he said, firm but a bit hesitant.  “Kate, this is my mother, Dian-”

“Mrs. Hiddleston,” she interrupted, her cold gaze falling on me again. “Well.”  Another sniff.  “No reason to stand in the entry like imbeciles then.  I’ve certainly been waiting long enough already.  Do hurry.”  With a swish of her skirt, she turned sharply and walked down the hall, her back ramrod straight, her footsteps echoing precisely off the walls.

I bit my lip, scuffing a toe on the floor, as I watched Tom visibly relax beside me.  Tom Hiddleston- who faced down police detectives without blinking, who calmly ordered executions, who negotiated with criminals of all stripes, never a hair out of place to show his nerves- shut down in one loaded flounce from his mother.

William was just delivering a serving tray laden with a roasted chicken, crisp and golden and smelling divine, when Tom and I arrived in the dining room.  The oval table was set with white china dishes, their scalloped edges painted in blue and gold.  Tom pulled out a chair for me, his fingers brushing over my shoulder before he left. If he meant the gesture to be reassuring, he had failed.  He took his place across from me, his mother sitting next to him.  She didn’t even wait for William to finish serving before she turned her attention to me.

“So.  Katherine- I assume it’s Katherine?- Brown.  Irish?” she asked, her cool, analyzing gaze the same that I so often saw on her son.

“Mother.”  Tom’s voice held a hint of warning as he unfolded his napkin.

She waved at him dismissively, never taking her eyes off me.  "Oh quiet, love, nothing wrong with the Irish, your father had a bit from about three generations back.  I never held it against him.  She looks far less shiftless than most of them anyway.“

I flushed, insulted and indignant, but answered politely. "Um, no, ma'am.  My family’s been American as far back as we know.” Was that the wrong answer?  Would she rather I were British or French?  I doubted it mattered- whatever I said, I had a feeling that I was going to be in the wrong.

She sniffed.  "So there  _might_ be Irish in there somewhere.“

"Move along, Mum,” Tom said with quiet command, although he didn’t look up from the potato he was cutting on his plate.  The return of even part of the steely, casually dominant Tom I was familiar with was much more reassuring than his light touch on my shoulder.

There was a heavy silence until Tom asked his mother about her visit to Philadelphia.  She hardly took her eyes off of me as she talked of her daughter and her grandchildren. It was difficult to picture Tom with a young niece and nephew; even harder with those hawk eyes watching my every move.  I took a sip of wine to ease my dry throat.  I should ask something.  I hadn’t said a word in too long.

At the next lull in Mrs. Hiddleston’s story, I gathered my courage to ask how long they had lived in Philadelphia and if she visited them often. My mouth opened but as soon as it did, she began again.  

“I got a letter from Emma,” she said.  Tom made a noise of interest and she was off again.

She chattered on, never saying anything directly negative towards me. But every fact she revealed about her family was calculated behind her shrewd eyes and coated with a thin, slimy film of derision.  Emma was at school in England, soon to holiday in France.  Wasn’t it  _nice_  to be in Europe, where the schools- and the people- were so refined and intelligent.  They had immigrated to America early in the century, did I know that, because her late husband wanted to build a factory and that is what America is for- factories.  People here were practically  _designed_  to work in factories.  And Thomas was running the business so  _well_.  He was a friend of the mayor, a generous giver to charities, a popular guest at so many glamorous parties each month.  

“But then, you would know about all that, being his  _secretary_. I must admire you, Miss Brown, I would not have the stamina to sit idle for so long during the day.  And it boggles me how you can stand to talk so much in the telephone- I am so used to talking to real people…”

By the time Tom told William to bring the tea service into the library, it was all I could do to keep my back straight and my face frozen in feigned interest.  I wanted to go home.  A vague shame burned in my stomach, fed by my apparent lack of worth, making me feel ill. I hadn’t said more than a few words all evening while I pushed food around my plate, but Mrs. Hiddleston already had a list of flaws to point out- between the lines, of course.

But what made me desperately want to leave this house was that Tom hadn’t seemed to pick up on the snide undertone at all.  He had engaged his mother, talking with her with animated hand gestures, only occasionally trying to bring me into the conversation.  She seemed to occupy his full attention as he preened and puffed under her boasts about him.  Just an hour ago, I had been happy, secure in my value to Tom, both as employee and lover.  The loss of that security left me deflated and flat.

I was still debating if I should wait for Tom to pull out my chair, like he had for his mother, or not when he came over to help me. “Tom,” I whispered, taking his hand but not looking at him.   _I don’t want to have tea.  Please take me home.  I can’t stay here._   The words stuck in my throat, making me feel like a coward- both for  _wanting_  to say them and for  _not_ saying them.

His free hand slipped across the back of my neck, his thumb caressing under my ear.  "What is it, starling?“  He coaxed my head back and I could feel his gaze, demanding I meet it.  His hand was soothingly warm and I couldn’t help leaning into his touch even as I refused to meet his eyes, the endearment uncomfortably grating.  

I could hear my own mother telling me not to be rude, that I had to stay for tea.  I had been invited, in a way, and had to see it through.  "Nothing, sir,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t hear how I had to force the words, how they were bitter in my mouth.  "Your mother will be wondering where you are.“

“Ah.  Steady on, darling,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across my forehead.  ““This isn’t the evening I had anticipated- I know she is a bit to handle.  She’ll leave us alone after tea.  You’re doing so well.  Just a little longer.”

I wanted to ask him if he had been at the same dinner I had, but his hand on my neck pulled me closer, until I could feel the heat of him through his shirt. His grip was reassuringly firm, holding me fast so his tongue could slip between my lips, erasing all my tension with a slow kiss that deepened and burned as I gradually yielded to him.  My eyes were unfocused when he pulled away long moments later, his satisfied smirk only vaguely registering in my mind.  He tucked my arm in his and steered me out of the dining room.

The library was dark and cozy, with a marble fireplace on one wall and full bookshelves lining another.  To the left of the fireplace, there were two large wingback chairs on either side of a small inlaid table.  Opposite them, across the lush green and gold Oriental carpet, was a small couch.  It was the kind of room that was a haven from the world, warm and quiet, the kind of place where time stood still.  The kind of room I would have loved- if not for the woman seated on one of the chairs, her sharp eyes missing nothing as Tom escorted me to the couch.

I carefully smoothed my skirt as I sat down.  I expected Tom to sit beside me, but he moved to the other chair after I was settled.  I felt exposed, facing the two of them, so alike in features and demeanor.  Exposed, vulnerable, and once again so unsure of my place. Was Tom siding with his mother against me?  Was he trying to placate her so that we could be alone?  The sudden desire to go home again pierced through me.  

I was distracted by the butler coming in with a wheeled table.  When the table was placed to his satisfaction, William left and returned with a silver tray, on which sat a beautiful tea service. He poured steaming tea into three delicate cups, practiced precision in every movement, then put sugar in one and cream in another.  William produced a dark, elaborately-labelled bottle from beneath the table and tipped a generous dollop of brandy into the two cups with a casual flourish.  

He turned to me and nodded respectfully.  "Miss Brown?  How would you like your tea?”

I swallowed, feeling Mrs. Hiddleston’s eyes on me.  "Just a bit of cream and sugar, please, thank you,“ I squeaked.  He tilted his head towards the bottle and I shook mine.  I didn’t think I could handle Mrs. Hiddleston with an edge.

Mrs. Hiddleston took a sip of her tea and sighed, putting the cup down again. "Thomas,” she said as she patted his hand. “I don’t know how you managed to find such a nice brandy in these ridiculous times, but you’re such a sweet son to do so for me.”

I glanced at Tom and saw the warning look in his eyes and the cock of his eyebrow.  I hid my face behind my teacup.  She didn’t  _know_.  His mother was completely unaware that Thomas Hiddleston was the biggest, and highest quality, bootlegger in New York.  

She had no idea where the money that had saved the factories she was so proud of had come from.

Tom had inherited his father’s failing glass works factory upon his death. With an uncanny ability to tell where the wind was blowing, Tom predicted that the country would soon be needing more weapons and borrowed money from a black market dealer to convert the factory from glass to guns.  Upon being drafted, Tom convinced the officer that not only was  _he_  essential to the weapons manufacturing effort, but that his young male employees were as well.  He used that factory as a shield, trading draft dodges for money or favors.  Soon, he owned six factories and had built a loyal, if seedy, organization beneath him.  

When the Great War ended, he converted the factories again, this time into building electric appliances that he foresaw being popular.  But he couldn’t give up the shadier- and more profitable- side of his business.  And then when Prohibition passed, he knew exactly what he was going to do with his loyal organization.

Mrs. Hiddleston continued to talk; her current topic was her lunch with some important artist in Philadelphia.  I had stopped paying much attention, instead watching Tom.  He was still focused on her, but even his interest seemed distant now, his nods slower, his responses flatter, his eyes shifting away from her occasionally.  _It must drive him mad,_ I thought,  _to have her always talking like this._ It was no wonder that he sought peace and quiet in his office.

A brisk knock on the door interrupted the “conversation,” and William again entered the room, giving a bow to Mrs. Hiddleston and myself. “Mr. Hiddleston, I am sorry to disturb you; there is a telephone call for you, sir.”

With a sigh and a grumble, Tom stood up.  "I do apologize.  This won’t take long, I’m sure- if you will excuse me, ladies.“  He nodded to his mother, then turned away from her and winked at me.  It only made my stomach twist harder into knots- was he not paying attention?

I shoved down the urge to throw my arms around his waist and cry,  _Don’t leave me alone with her!_  and instead, we both watched him leave the room. As soon as the door had swung shut, Mrs. Hiddleston’s attention was back on me, like a hawk sighting a trembling mouse.

Her voice was conversational, almost friendly, but I could feel the hostility lurking closer, sharper than it had a minute ago.  “Are you a ‘modern woman,’ Kate?  I must assume, since you’re… 'working’ for my Thomas.”

My stomach surged with embarrassment at her insinuation.  Even though it was true.  Especially since it was true.  "Yes, ma'am, I am.“  I tried to say it proudly, to regain some ground in this disaster.  My mother had been insistent that I be my own woman, like she had been when she was on the stage.  She had been quite vocal on her feelings about young women who “relied on men too much.”

"Well, I suppose that’s fine for some,” she sniffed, taking a long sip of her tea.  “I need the respect and dignity of marriage, but clearly there are women willing to give that up for- what, money?  Well, not as much money as one could get from a husband, of course, but young ladies can be so stubborn.  Always have to do things their own way, never mind that their elders know better.”

I swallowed as she continued to rant about the frailties of working women. How they were short-sighted. Rebellious.  Selfish.  It was a fad, this women working trend.  How would a woman learn how to exert control over her husband and his household if she wasted time in an office or factory, how would she raise moral children, how would she feel in ten years with nothing to show for her debauched youth?

Nodding politely but staring at her brooch to avoid her eyes, thinking a hundred replies that I would never utter aloud, I drank my tea, trying to hide behind it like a shield.  This was eerily familiar, sitting trapped while being lectured on my failings as a woman.

True, my mother had had a flair for the theatrical, while Mrs. Hiddleston oozed cultured disdain, and the subject matter was polar opposite, but the feeling they inspired was nearly the same.  Listening to my mother tear apart those “timid wives” and “cowardly mothers,” waving her tumbler of whiskey to emphasize her point, spewing bitter philosophy in half-remembered lines of Shakespeare and vaudeville playwrights… it wasn’t so different than Mrs. Hiddleston’s condescending diatribe about working women and their impact on the morality of the country.

Either way, I came up lacking.

My mother had never intended to get married until she had gotten knocked up from a night with my father, and she held it against me that I showed no talent for acting or music, instead gravitating to the neat logic of numbers and letters.  Seeing no other hope for me to make my own way, she had “nudged” me into stenography school, which I hadn’t been enthusiastic about.  I wasn’t certain I wanted to be a “career girl”- or a wife and mother, for that matter- but she was insistent.  And she always knew how to twist my thoughts around so that I didn’t know which way was up…

“… I’m sure you’re not one of those young ladies that goes to those… those ‘petting parties.’  I’m only saying that those girls who do are not right in the head.  To let a boy kiss and grope at her, with nothing expected in return?  Youth today are too consumed with exactly that-  _today._   They have no thought for the future, these girls.  And you, Katherine, what are your intentions for the future?”

My teacup rattled against the saucer when I put it down, abruptly drawn back into the moment.  How did I answer that?  I didn’t  _know_  the answer to that.

“I, um…  Well, working for To- Mr. Hiddleston is a very good opportunity and-”

“No.  Now that it’s just us women, tell me the truth.  What are your intentions with my Thomas?”

I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my throat, hoping that my face wasn’t as flushed as it felt- and that Mrs. Hiddleston lacked her son’s ability to read it.  “I-intentions, ma’am?”

“Yes, you heard me.  Are you hoping for money?  Property? Thomas hasn’t brought a woman to see me in years, not since that Evelyn girl.  But that was when we lived in the city… and she had a _proper_  invitation. You seem to be more of an… accident.” A sip of tea later, before I could muster a response, she continued, eyeing me suspiciously.  “Has there been an ‘accident,’ Katherine?”

I would have gasped at her insinuation if my jaw hadn’t been clenched so tightly.  “No, ma’am.” I tried to infuse my voice with all the indignation burning through me, but I knew I fell short when she continued.

“It’s not an unreasonable assumption,” Mrs. Hiddleston said, with cool condescension, again letting her gaze roam my body, as if she were looking for any hint of a pregnancy.  “After all, my Thomas circulates with the elite in this city- he has his pick of rich, educated,  _mature_  women- and he comes home with a  _flapper_ ,” she practically spat the word at me.  “A flighty, irresponsible, selfish lot, all of you.”

There was so much that I wanted to say, but I knew that I would never say it. Not to her, not to Tom, not even to my own mother.  I wanted to defend myself.  I wanted to leave in a huff of insulted dignity.  I wanted to cry.

And all I did was sit, clutching my empty china cup, and stare at the pattern on the carpet by her feet.

“I hope you won’t take offence if I say that you seem a pleasant girl, but that I sincerely hope we never meet again, Miss Brown.  Tell my Thomas that I tired of my tea in his absence and have retired.  Good night.”

And in a precise, aggressive rustle of fabric that managed to convey just how unwelcome I was, she was gone.


	6. Charleston or Breakaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20’s slang: brown plaid- Scotch whiskey; doll- a woman; quiff- a slut or cheap prostitute; jingle-brained- addled

I was still sitting there, frozen, slouched around my shame, when Tom returned from his phone call.  I didn’t look up.  I stared blankly at the teacup and saucer held in my numb hands, my head bowed. The door clicked shut, his footsteps echoing in the silent room as he walked to stand across the rug from me. My breath seemed too loud in my ears and I dragged my eyes up- but only to his collar, his tie now loose around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

I forced my tongue to unglue from the roof of my mouth.  “Your mother said to tell you goodnight,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound as hollow and defeated to him as it did to me.

“And I’m certain she was genial and warm about it too,” he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Well.  That was not precisely the dinner I had planned.“  His voice dropped to a suggestive rumble.  "I had been looking forward all day to having you lick that gravy off my fingers…”

There was a long pause when I didn’t move or respond.  His gaze was a weight on my shoulders, heavy and inescapable. This was the Tom that I knew.  His spine straight, his head high, the aura of cool control and quiet command surrounding him.  If I looked at his face, I knew I’d see his lips in a stern line, his eyes slightly narrowed.  Gone would be the softer bow of his mouth, the subtle relaxing of his posture, the deferring of control that he had shown when his mother was in the room.

I didn’t know what to say, thoughts running dizzy circles in my head- what _could_  I say?  That she had insulted me, accused me of blackmailing him?  That I felt humiliated and unwanted? That I was angry for how he hadn’t noticed any of it?  A new twist of shame settled in my stomach as one thought surfaced suddenly sharp in my mind:  _What am I, Tom?  What sort of woman am I supposed to be- tell me, Tom, please…_

No, I couldn’t say any of that.  

As I sat there, studying the fabric of his tie, he stepped to stand directly in front of me.  My eyes dropped to his belt, hiding my face from him.

“You need to dance,” he said, taking the cup from my hands.

I blinked slowly.  Dance?  _Dance?_   That was the farthest thing from my mind.  I wanted to go home.  My head throbbed with dull but persistent pain.  My legs felt like lead, my whole body miserable and heavy with no energy to swing and spin.

_You said you would take what you could and be happy.  You said that you’d enjoy what he gave you and not worry about what comes next,_  I reminded myself acerbically.   _He wants to dance.  With you._ _So stand up and dance.  Lose yourself in his arms.  Don’t think any more. Just stand up._

The rustle of paper sleeves and then the scratch and buzz of the needle finding a groove made my decision for me.  A lone trumpet filled the air, slow mournful notes that fit my mood exactly. Lonely, lost… out of place.  By the time Tom had crossed back to me, the trumpet had been joined by the rest of the band, the tempo picking up into a lively, danceable tune.

I forced a cheery smile as I stood.  “What are you thinking, sir, the Charleston?  The Breakaway?”  The music wasn’t quite right for either, but I started in on the first few steps of the Charleston anyway, swinging my arms a bit awkwardly.

Tom’s hands gripped my shoulders, his soft chuckle raining down on me as he pulled me close.  “No, I was thinking something a bit different, starling,” he murmured, his hips undulating to the rhythm.  His hands dropped down, pulling and holding my body against his.  "Something a bit more… intimate.“

My movements were choppy and disjointed, the anger and shame and indecision keeping me stiff.  But as the music sank into my muscles, as the rhythm shifted the beat of my pulse, the tension began to bleed away.  My body relaxed under Tom’s stroking hands, his teasing kisses, letting him sway and roll and twist us together.  With each brush of his stubble against my cheek, with each warm, controlled exhale in my ear, with each caress of his hands down my arms, my mind quieted. While he touched me, I was just me, in the moment, savoring each sensation.  His lips on mine, soft and slow.  The hard length of him grinding into my lower belly.  The beat of the music.  I almost wondered how he could have this effect on me… except the throb of my blood through my veins, in my ears, between my legs, drowned out any other thought.  

The record skipped and scratched for an instant, then the sweet low notes of a singer flowed out of the speakers.  Tom grasped my hand, his other pressed at the small of my back, and with a quirk of his eyebrow, we were moving.

I didn’t know the steps, but it didn’t matter.  He was leading.  He spun us around and around the room, smooth and easy- an improvised jazzy waltz.  A subtle nudge, a slight lean, a tug on my hand and my body was following his without thought.  Working, dancing, in bed.  It didn’t matter where.  He led and I followed, pliant, eager, his to command.  Whatever he wanted me to be, I was his.

I let my eyes drift shut and my head fall back on my neck, leaning on his arm around my waist as I pulled a leg up over his hip, goosebumps flowing over my skin at his hiss.  It was just us.  Nothing- and no one- else mattered right now.  I rolled my pelvis against his, wondering if he could feel the heat of me through our clothes, if he could tell how watching the smooth grace of his body match the music was affecting me.

A gentle shift and I was standing on two legs again.  He spun me out and pulled me back, the warmth of his chest all along my spine.  His stubble scratched tingling fire on my neck as his mouth found my ear.

"I could bend you over that table right now, take you hard and fast, and you would love it.  Or I could drape you over the settee and fuck into you long and deep, this instant.  I know you are so ready for me, aren’t you, darling?”

I nodded, my throat locked tight from the dark promise in his words.

His hands drifted down from my arms to my hips, holding me firmly so that he could grind against me.  " _Such_  a good girl,“ he breathed into my ear, his voice heavy and rough.  A slow, delightful shudder wracked my body.  "I could have you here, right now, but I want to see you in my bed again. I lay there last night, pulling myself off to the thought of you… the look in your eyes when I filled you the first time.  The feel of your small wrists in my hands.  The little breathy sounds you make when I tease your hard pink nipples. I want to see your face.  I want to watch you come with my cock buried in you… I want to watch you beg for it.”  He turned me, looking down at my flushed face, my wide eyes.  "You do beg so prettily, starling.  Why don’t you start now?“

I stared up at him- his strong jaw dusted with stubble, his supple lips, his sharp cheekbones… and his eyes.  His bright, piercing, beautiful eyes, a deceptively calm surface hiding a swift, dangerous current.  “Please, sir,” I whispered, awash with delicious embarrassment as my hands slid up his chest to rest on his neck.  “Please… take me to bed.”

By the time we got there, tumbling naked onto the mattress, I was soaking and he was ravenous.  I pushed myself up on my elbows, watching him crawl towards me, lithe and slow, the look on his face one of pure predatory joy.  He trapped me under him before I had even begun to squirm away, his legs bracketing my hips, his mouth hot on my neck.  Teeth dug in, a hint of pain, and then he was sucking on the skin, making me gasp.

“You like to be bitten, don’t you, darling?” he purred before his teeth grazed over my shoulder.  “Marked.” His tongue flicked over the heated skin. “Savaged,” he growled, lunging forward and sinking his teeth into my neck, tugging playfully.

My eyes slid shut, a strangled half-mewling noise escaping me as I tilted my head, offering him all he wanted.

“Oh, I  _like_  that sound.  Will you do it again if I bite you here…?”  Harder but no less careful, his mouth sucking fiercely, his scruff creating luscious prickles.  "And here?“  Over and over, I made that sound for him as he left me marked- shoulders, throat, ribs, the swells of my breasts, all showing dark pink evidence of his attention.

And each time, the pull of his mouth sent thrills through me, my pulse racing in anticipation.  I quivered beneath him, pressing my legs together to quell the growing, consuming ache between them until my hips rose on their own, seeking out friction, pressure, desperate to grind out the tension on anything available.

He chuckled in my ear, low and unhurried despite his own obvious hunger dripping on to my stomach- infuriating, intoxicating.  "Is there something you want, starling?”

“Y-yes… please…”

“Tell me.”  His voice was velvet over steel, implacable command.

I shook my head, lip caught between my teeth, trying to urge him on with my body bucking under his so as not to say the words.  Those delicious, scarlet, wanton words that were locked inside me.  He tugged gently but impatiently at the curls between my legs, a small frown furrowing his brow when I didn’t obey.

I twisted to find more contact, whimpering when he pulled his hand away. “Oh god… sir, please…”  My eyes screwed shut again, my face turned to the side, my skin flushing under his scrutiny, the one that saw right through me, saw everything I had hidden inside me.  My blood was heated and throbbing where he had marked me, reminding me… This was what he wanted.  This was what  _I_  wanted.  I wanted to be at his mercy, to follow his lead, for him to see me and unlock my secrets.

One knee pressed between mine, parting my legs so that he could lie between them, rocking against me, bathing his length in the liquid waiting to welcome him, making me whine with each bump of his head against my swollen clit.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?“ he purred.   "For me to hold you down, to take you hard, deep, to use you like a quiff.  My pretty little slut…”  His voice was low, urgent.  "I told you, I want to hear you beg…“

"Please, sir, Tom,” I said in hitching, shy syllables. “Please… take me… Pl-please fuck me…  _please_ …”

His chuckle this time was dark honey, seeping into my brain, caressing me with pride hidden under lust.  "My good girl.  Such a lovely, dirty mouth.“

He pinned my wrists by my head, his palms warm and his grip firm, sinking into me in one smooth push.  My eyes slid shut, my head pressed back into the pillow as he rolled deep between my thighs, once, twice.  His hands held me down and I bowed up beneath him, my body singing the affirmation I had no breath for.  

Blood rang in my ears, drowning out everything but his voice, his eyes, his lean hard body over me, in me.  He squeezed my wrists as he plunged hard, stealing my breath away.  I couldn’t tell which sensation thrilled me more.  I twisted under him, not to escape but to feel his grip tighten again, a bit more pressure holding me down, and I keened softly at the fresh surge of wetness between my thighs.

“You love this,” Tom growled in my ear.  “Rough, deep.  Such a perfect, sweet slut for me.  Such a lovely plaything.  You feel incredible, starling.  So wet, so hot…”

I couldn’t suppress the moan, long and low, that flowed out of me as he gripped me, surrounded me, plunged with brutal, efficient force.  I was caught, trapped, treasured, safe.  My legs wrapped around his hips, lifting myself into his thrusts, meeting each one with a delighted gasp.

My whole body began to tremble as I ground myself against him shamelessly, finding just the right angle that exploded stars across my closed lids. His voice flowed through me, urging, praising, occasionally stuttering into a curse when his control slipped.  I was whimpering with each thrust, my muscles quivering around him.

He pressed his forehead to mine, his breathing ragged and tense. "That’s it, darling girl, my sweet little quiff.  You’re going to come for me.  Open your eyes, Kate.  Let me watch you come undone on my cock.”

It seemed to take a heroic effort to open my eyes, but when I did, all I saw was the blue of his, the dark pupils blown wide.  I could drown in his eyes, drop beneath the surface and be lost in the current, flowing wherever he wanted.  What he might have seen in my own eyes, I don’t know because as soon as he slid a hand between us, stroking over my throbbing clit, I was gone.  My lids closed, my head flew back, my body torn apart and glued together in one blissful, contradictory moment of light and dark, sound and silence.  I was panting when I relaxed back to the bed, shuddering with the aftershocks every time Tom moved.

When I finally opened my eyes again, tiny moans still slipping from my mouth, he flashed me a wolfish grin, his tongue caught between his teeth briefly. "Beautiful,” he rumbled. “My pretty little slut… Fuck, what the sight of you coming does to me…”

He sat back, hooking my knees over his elbows, then surged forward with a beautiful snarl, bending me nearly in half as he picked up speed, charging into his own pleasure with gritted teeth and harsh breaths.  My breasts bounced wildly beneath him, my legs held wide, his grunts of effort and enjoyment echoing in my ears.

I winced the first time he pounded against my cervix.  With his eyes shut and head flung back, he didn’t notice. I bit back a yelp the second time. I tried to find the rhythm again, that consuming, driving need that drowned out everything else.  But now I noticed the burn in my over-stretched hamstrings.  The jolt of my breasts that was almost painful.  There was too much pressure on my hips.  And the sharp bites from his battering of my cervix kept me tense, straining to hold my position.

He was so close, I could tell, the cords of his neck standing out, his breath fast, dirty endearments falling from his lips.   _Just wait,_  I told myself.   _He’ll be finished soon.  Don’t move, just… think about something else._   But more and more, all I could think of was the discomfort, of how much I wanted to stretch my legs out…

I wasn’t even sure I had said the “stop” that hovered on my lips, if he would hear me amidst the filthy praise and grunts.  I was shocked when he froze above me, his eyes snapping open and the latest elated curse of my name trailing off.  He was pulling back and away before I could even say another word, pulling me up to kneel in front of him, his hands rubbing my arms with soft, comforting pressure.

“What is it?” he asked, studying my face.  

I flushed, already embarrassed by my inability to keep my mouth shut. His cock stood proud and dark between his legs, wet and shiny, almost accusing.   _Why couldn’t you have stayed quiet for another few moments? He’ll be pissed as hell at you…_ My lower lip was caught between my teeth, my cheeks burning hotter the longer I didn’t-  _couldn’t_ \- answer.

“Kate.”  He cupped my face in his hands, searching my eyes, his firm tone of command ringing through his words.  "Tell me.  What is wrong?“

I stared at a spot on the coverlet, now blurred by tears.  "I… I’m sorry… Th-that didn’t feel right… something was off, I don’t know what,” I mumbled, ashamed at myself. “I shouldn’t have stopped you, I’m sorry, I…”

He tilted my gaze back up to his.  "I don’t want to hurt you in ways you don’t enjoy, starling,“ he said, quiet but intense.  "Ever. No, look at me.  This is important.  Kate, if you tell me to stop, _I will stop_ , do you understand?  We both enjoy when I call you my whore or my plaything, but you are not a toy.  This is not just for me, whatever we might pretend.”

The tears threatened to fall as I looked at him.  This man who had haunted my dreams, who had lived in my fantasies for seven years… He was so different from what I had imagined- commanding, yes, and as rough as I had ever wanted, but he was so much more.  In all the time I had worked for him, I had never expected him to be as caring as he was.  

I had never imagined that I would be in his bed, like this, with him watching me with such a serious and gentle stare.  Never in any of my fantasies had we ended up  _here_.

A surge of affection rushed through me- a tidal wave of gratitude, desire, and joy flooding me so full that I couldn’t stay still.  I needed him, needed to show him what his attention, what his care meant to me.  I dove for his cock, half soft now, sucking him into my mouth with a hunger born of wonder. I could taste myself on his skin and I moaned in surprised delight.

“Kate!” he yelped, even as his hand threaded into my hair to cradle the back of my head.  "Are you sure- you don’t have to-“

I moaned again as he swelled against my tongue, pushing further into my mouth.  I bobbed on him a few times as he hardened, shallow, experimental, before lifting my eyes to his, silently pleading.  He had said he would teach me how to do this and right now, that was all I wanted.  To be taught to please him, to give him back some of what he had given me.  

"Please, sir…”

He knew what I was asking, of course.

“First, starling…”  He grabbed me, coaxing me off the bed.  He sat on the edge, his legs spread wide, cock glistening, hard and waiting for me. “On your knees.  There’s a good girl…”

I sank down eagerly, my hands resting on his thighs, the soft hair tickling my palms.  I leaned forward, licking a stripe up his length, my lips groping at him, practically humming with excitement.  He stroked my hair, murmuring instructions and endearments in equal measure, letting me expel my nervous energy in exploring him.

When my breathing calmed and my posture had relaxed, he guided my head to his tip with a gruff, “Open.”  He thrust shallowly into my mouth for a few moments, his hand on my head there more to remind me of his control than actually directing me.

“Nice and slow for now, starling.  But I am going to come in your sweet mouth and you are going to swallow it all, is that understood?”

I shuddered at his words, fresh arousal sweeping through me and I had to stifle another moan.  The feel of him filling my mouth, hard and heavy and smooth, the salted sin taste of him… I was all his in this moment, basking in the small grunts and quiet barks sounding above me, relishing every hitch of his belly, every twitch of his fingers.

His hands buried in my hair, gripping the curls in two fists.  He hissed when I sucked on him hard in return, my eyes rolling shut, the teasing tug on my scalp sending shivers down my spine. He didn’t pull, just held me still for a few slow, careful thrusts.  "Oh yes, my darling,“ he groaned.  "Mind your teeth… Use your tongue, sweet, like that…. Suck…”

I hollowed my cheeks, drawing soft then hard under his guidance, creating the unique rhythm he craved.  Slowly, I crept down his length, taking more of him each time.  His skin was slick and shiny now, sliding easily to the back of my mouth…

I coughed abruptly, tears slipping down my cheeks from my watering eyes. He loosened his grip on my hair, allowing me to pull away and sputter, trying to get my lungs back under control.

_Goddammit, Kate!  Can’t you do anything fucking right today?  You’ve already interrupted him once tonight.  You absolute jingle-brained moron…_

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I stammered.  “I’ve only done this the one time, before- and I-”

“Kate.”  His voice was gentle, firm, undeniable.  “The knowledge that I’m the first to ever have your mouth is a delight all of its own. I know that you lack experience in this. What makes you so irresistible is your… delightful enthusiasm.  Those little moans you’re trying so hard to stifle.  The sight of you on your knees, with your lips around my cock… All you need is practice- and I am happy to give you all the opportunity you want, starling.  Here…” He pulled my hand to his mouth, sucking each finger sloppily before swiping his tongue over my palm. “Put your hand here, stroke like- oh God, yes, like that.  Fuck, you are a quick study.  Keep your hand there.”

“Thank you,” I whispered shyly.

"Don’t thank me, starling,” he growled, with an underlying tenderness that made my heart swell.  “Get your mouth back on my cock where it belongs.”

I moved my hand and mouth together, a careful, steady rhythm until he was groaning above me.  I slowed then, testing what he liked, learning his responses.  I fluttered my tongue against him, shivering as his fingers pressed into my scalp when I hit the right spot.  It was enthrallingto lick and savor, to kiss and nibble and stroke every inch of him.  He smelled of wool and musk, spice and salt… and myself.  It was a combination I found intoxicating and arousing- the scent of  _us_.

He let me play for a time, his breath ragged and his thighs thrumming beside my ears with suppressed energy.  I ran my tongue over his crown as my hand twisted and squeezed.  He pulled back suddenly, leaving my mouth hanging open, tracing my lips with his thumb.  

“Such a sweet, pretty mouth,” he murmured huskily.  “Such an eager, devoted slut, on your knees for me.  God, you are _beautiful._ Your lips red and swollen from sucking my cock.  Your hair all a-mess from my grip.  The blush in your cheeks…”  He took a long, shuddering breath.  “So fucking beautiful.”  He lunged down, catching my mouth with his and kissing me fiercely, deeply, before sitting back up.  “Put your mouth back to work, starling… and swallow everything I give you like the good girl I know you are.”

My stomach did a curious, delicious flip and seemed to sink straight down to heat my pelvis, my cunt clenching around the empty, needy ache. I pressed my legs together as I lowered my head again, anything to ease the persistent throbbing his words were creating.

“Oh yes, my precious little skirt likes this.”  Tom’s voice was soft and dark and strained as he watched me.  "Sucking my cock, waiting for my come to fill your mouth.  I bet you are dying for my touch between those sweet thighs of yours, aren’t you?“

I couldn’t help but whimper, raising my eyes to look at his flushed face. He slid his hands back in my hair, holding me still while he thrust as deep as my hand would let him.  The sound of wet skin sliding slick and slippery filled the air along with his grunts and half-snarled praise.

"Good girl…  What a sinful mouth…  I’m so close, Kate, I’m going to come down your pretty throat…   _Fuck_ …  Holy God, yes, now…”  He sucked in air through gritted teeth, pulling me down onto him with a noise that sounded like his heart had been torn out.  He swelled in my mouth and then my tongue was flooded with him, thick and salty spurts that I did my best to swallow, excess dripping down my chin onto my breasts and belly.

His chest was still heaving when he pulled my head away, his own dropped back on his neck, accentuating the long lines of his muscles.  I sat on my heels, watching with a satisfied smile and flushed with pride.

“Oh, my very good girl,” he managed, dragging me up and into bed with him.  He rolled me under him, licking the streaks of his come from my skin.  I was so distracted by the hot swipes of his tongue that I squealed in surprised rapture when he slid two fingers inside me. “So fucking wet,” he murmured in my ear.  "You really did enjoy that.“

The heel of his hand pressed down on my clit, his fingers curling as he stroked my walls.  It was deep and fast, his touch driving me higher with brutal precision.  But it was his voice that had me whining and writhing, intoning silky, cultured filth directly into my brain until I convulsed around him with a stuttered cry.

And it was his voice in my ear that soothed me down to sleep after he licked his fingers clean, spooning against my back warm and solid.

"My darling little quiff.  You were brilliant tonight.  Sinfully delightful in every way…  My pretty bird, my sweet starling…”


	7. Truly Indispensible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so so much for sticking with this story. I love you all. I am hoping that the next chapter (which I already have good chunks drafted for) will be up faster than this one.

I don’t know what woke me in the early hours of the morning, much earlier than I would normally open my eyes.  It could have been the unfamiliar bed, with its silky sheets and too-soft pillows and spicy, not floral, scent.  It could have been the lack of street noise- no trucks making early deliveries, no streetcars rumbling by, no pedestrians haranguing each other on the sidewalk.

Or it could have been the feel of soft golden hair brushing against my inner thighs as Tom lapped a slow, lazy rhythm between them.

He took his time.  Wet, firm swipes over the soon-soaked folds.  Delicate exploring with the tip of his tongue, parting my lips with his fingers to find every hidden bit of me.  But he avoided my straining clit and neither his tongue nor his fingers slid inside me to ease the emptiness that gnawed at me in delicious torment.  He sucked and licked and laved at me with careful deliberation, long after it was obvious that I was awake from the twitching of my hands and the hitches in my breath. 

It wasn't until a pleading and desperate " _Tom_..." escaped my mouth that he raised his head to look at me.  I shuddered at the way he dragged his tongue over his lower lip, his eyes dark and predatory under wild hair.  His normally slicked-back waves were sticking up at every angle, one lone curl falling across his forehead.  He looked younger, softer…

But no less commanding.

"Did you sleep well, Miss Brown?" he purred, exuding pure feline satisfaction as he rasped his stubbled cheek over the tender skin at the top of my thigh.  “I know I did, after last night’s… vigorous activity.”  He caught a bit of my belly between his teeth and tugged gently, chuckling as I squirmed and then gasped when he finally sank one long finger deep into me.

He moved up my body, dusting a hundred tiny kisses over my stomach.  He paused at the first purple mark his teeth had left the night before, solemnly nuzzling there and on the next. 

"I rode you hard last night.  Used you well..." he murmured against another dark blemish, his eyes finding mine as his finger found that sensitive spot inside me.  “And you enjoyed every second of it, didn’t you?  Every bite… every hard thrust… every filthy word…”

I nodded, my voice stolen by the look in his eyes, the feel of his thumb brushing over my clit, the warmth of his body covering mine.  He smelled of sleep and sex and sweat- warm, rich, musky.

"Oh yes, you particularly like the filthy words, don’t you?”  One finger became two, long strokes against my walls that left me shaking.  He licked a hot, damp stripe along my collarbone, ending at the bite on my shoulder that still throbbed subtly.  His lips were soft and gentle on the tender skin, his fingers firm and forceful inside me, the two sensations scrambling in my brain and swirling dizzily in my stomach.

“Nothing to say, starling?  Mmm...  You feel exquisite.  All soft skin out here... and so hot and slippery in here..."  His fingers curled up, driving an airy cry from my frozen lungs.  “You're so sensitive in the morning.  So responsive.  So sweet and sleepy, and still so eager…”

I could feel his breath on my ear, ragged but controlled.  He was right; the sound of his voice, husky and low, vibrating through my skull… nothing drove my excitement higher than his velvet, gentleman's accent murmuring the filthiest things to me.

He pressed against my thigh as his tongue traced my ear.  "Do you feel that?  How many times did I have you yesterday?  Twice at the office... here in my bed... finishing in that _delicious_ mouth of yours... and yet."  He rutted against my thigh with a deep groan, skin siding on skin, eased by the fluid dripping from his tip, his teeth nibbling my earlobe.  "Three times, and still I woke up craving your sweet taste, your kisses, your wet, slick cunt..."

He shifted to hover above me, his gaze locked on my mouth.  "The image of you on your knees, my cock deep in your mouth... That's one I will keep forever."  His thumb brushed feather-light over my lips.  "Open for me, sweet."  My needy whimper filled the air between us before he sealed his mouth over mine with a murmured, "There's my girl."

The kiss was slow seduction, burning through my veins.  I lost myself in the taste of him, arching into the heat of his body, breathing in his passion, his desire.  My hands slid into his hair, caressing his scalp under silky locks, tugging on them when his weight pressed me down.  I barely noticed his fingers retreating, replaced with his cock sliding home in a lazy stroke, until his pelvis pressed on my neglected and aching clit.  I broke away from his mouth to gasp my shocked delight and he caught my wrists, dragging them from his hair and pinning them by my head.

The intense pressure of his body on mine had me whimpering in short order, twisting beneath him to find the angle I wanted.  But every time I found it, every time I started to move faster, to chase my release, he would move, leaving me frustrated and straining to free my hands.

"Tom..."

"Not yet, starling," he murmured, undisturbed by my desperate wriggling.

I gave a small sob, writhing, searching for just that extra contact that would push me over the edge.  "Please, sir, please..."

"Not.  Yet."  He rained soft kisses over my temple.  "I want you to wait.  Can you do that for me?"

His words echoed in my brain, tumbling over and over.  _I want you to wait._   Said with such a calm command, the kind that I always heeded, the kind I couldn't refuse.  He was studying me, his eyes never leaving my face, warm but stern, calm but curious.  And after last night… I was determined to pass any test he set, rise to any challenge he gave me.  If he wanted me to wait, then it was going to feel so good, whatever he had planned.  He would make it incredible.  For me.

"Y-yes, sir," I whispered. I tried to still the flex of my hips, to quiet the tension in my muscles, to back myself down from the beckoning precipice.

"Such a good girl," he cooed, his expression flooding with pride and satisfaction.  His lips pressed to mine in a kiss so searing, so fierce, that it stole my breath and any last doubts I may have had.  I whined when he ground against me, the torturous and powerful sensation on my clit almost too much to bear.  His hips rolled, slow, deep, over and over, his hands holding me still, his cock hitting every spot inside me that made me quiver with the effort of holding back.

And his _voice_.  His voice in my head, drowning out everything, even the feeling of his fingers digging hard into my wrists.  "Sweet, brave starling.  You're doing so well.  Being my good girl, my pretty little bird.  You feel so good, so wet, so hot… absolutely perfect.. "

I swelled under his praise, glowing from inside, floating and pinned at the same time.  My hands clutched at empty air, twisting in his grip until, with a breathless chuckle, Tom braided his fingers through mine, holding me down with gentle pressure.

"That's it… _yes_ …”  A handful of fast, brutal thrusts later, my body trembling with effort, his sweet praise ringing in my ear, he growled, "Now… Come with me now, Kate."

His cock plunging deep inside me once more was all I needed, the tension in my body snapping like a bowstring.  I shook in his grip, my blood thrumming with fire, with electricity, with light itself, my mouth open in a silent cry.  My eyes were shut, but I could still see his face, the joyous grimace of his lips, the intensity of his gaze, the hair falling over his forehead as he drove himself into me with abandon.

My heart was pounding, my cunt and clit still throbbing and twitching when Tom finally withdrew from me, collapsing rather shakily to the bed.  He turned me towards him and caught my mouth with his, his hands in my hair, his lips moving over mine with sweet satisfaction.  I twined my legs through his, languid and blissful and smiling sleepily into his kiss.

*****

I smiled again as I puttered around my apartment.  My fingers kept drifting to the marks he’d left on me, indulging in memories of last night and this morning. 

Tom had had William bring up a breakfast tray, neatly avoiding an awkward morning-after meal with his mother.  Cozily wrapped up in Tom’s silk dressing gown, I sat at the small table with him, pouring his coffee without being asked.  I stirred in three sugar cubes, sliding it next to his elbow while he read the paper.  I was starving, having eaten nearly nothing for dinner, and happily helped myself to the bacon and eggs on the tray.  I was used to a quick meal of toast or the new dry cereal and coffee before work- this was an incredibly decadent breakfast and I was determined to enjoy every bite.

Tom had absently served himself while reading, sipping coffee between bites.  After a few minutes, he had passed me a section of the paper.  We read and ate in comfortable silence, but I had caught him a few times with his gaze crawling over me instead of the newsprint.  At the end, Tom had escorted me down to the door, with a sweet, burning kiss and wishes for a lovely day off, and William had driven me back to the city.

I jumped suddenly, the enthusiastic pounding on my door jerking me out of my reverie.  Pressing my hand over my racing heart, I turned the knob, laughing as the person on the other side began chattering before I had more than cracked it open.

“Oh, Kate- you have a phone call down the hall- is that your new man?  Oh _my_ , he has the _best_ voice, it’s so… so… Kate, you never said he sounded like _that_!  No wonder you’re walking funny!”

“What?”  I blinked at my neighbor, slow to put together the pieces.  “Slow down, Mary.  Why-”

Mary took a deep breath, giving me a sly once over.  I covered my most obvious lovebite with my hand on my neck, blushing and unable to look at her smirk.

“Your boyfriend is on the phone,” Mary said with exaggerated enunciation.  “I was listening for it while Jimmy’s napping, you know, never know what fun tidbits I’d learn answering the floor line.”  She smirked at me again.  “Jasper sounds _de-licious_ , Kate, why haven’t you brought him around yet, I may not be able to sample the goods anymore, but give a girl a chance to ogle a little bit, would you?  I’d listen to him talk all day- I’d listen to him read the phonebook in that voice!”

“Jasper?  He wouldn’t call me, we- Oh!...  _Oh_.”

_Tom._

Before I could begin to figure out how to explain Tom to Mary- and why was he calling me here anyway?- an angry cry floated down the hall.

“Oh hell, there’s Jimmy.  He’ll be wanting milk, that boy eats nonstop… You remember to bring Jasper around sometime soon, Kate,” Mary ordered over her shoulder as she hustled back to her apartment.  “Don’t forget!  I _need_ to hear that voice in person!”

_That’ll be the day._  Shaking my head at the idea of introducing my gossipy, chattering neighbor to my indomitable boss, I walked to the end of the hall where the shared telephone sat in a little alcove.  “Hello?”

“There you are, Miss Brown,” purred the smooth, British baritone that turned me to jelly.  “I was beginning to think I’d have to send out a search party for you.  I know that you have today off, but it turns out that I need you here.  You and that file system of yours.  Come into the office at your earliest convenience?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Such a good girl.  I will see you soon.”

Despite the sultry infection of his praise, I knew this was a strictly business request.  It didn’t stop me from choosing a flattering  sleeveless dress, with a long string of faux pearls and a lace headband.  And my favorite satin pumps with cute French bows on the straps, usually reserved for dancing.  With Tom, business could easily turn into pleasure at any time...

But he had asked about my file system.  When I started working for him, I had realized that he kept everything about his bootlegging business in his head.  Every deal, every sale, every favor owed and completed.  And it was starting to show, the strain making him short-tempered- and the rage when he couldn’t remember something was terrifying to see.  I had devised a system to hide “business” files in with the Cymbeline Electrics files, based on a formula so that pieces of each dirty file were scattered across multiple legitimate ones.

No matter how many times I had explained to Tom that it was really very simple, he had always shaken his head, gifted me with an indulgent smile and said, “You’ve found a way to make yourself truly indispensable, haven’t you, Miss Brown?”

It seemed I had.

The door to Tom's office was shut when I arrived.  I could hear men's voices, occasionally raised, through the wood as I approached, raising my hand to knock. Then I heard the slam of a fist on a desk and nervously retreated to my desk.  _Tom doesn’t need to know I’m here yet- best not to interrupt…_ I thought.  I sat down, only to stand up again almost immediately when I saw the list left on my blotter, scrawled in Tom's loopy, bold handwriting.  It wasn’t a short list, and the only file I could see that connected to anything recently was the one named “ _Figueria_ 19 September”- the file on the shipment that had started this all.

By the time I had returned from the file room downstairs- my method was safe but it was decidedly not _fast_ \- I had thought that whatever meeting Tom was holding would have adjourned.  It hadn't.  I blew a loose curl off my forehead, balancing the stack in one arm to free a hand.  I knocked hesitantly at the door, then opened it and squeezed around the large man standing just inside.

“Ah, Miss Brown.”  Tom nodded to me as he stood from his chair, rounding the desk with an easy, confident stride, belying the pinched look in his eyes.  Those eyes flicked down my body as he closed the distance between us, leaving me hoping that my resulting blush was not too obvious. “Excellent work.  Give those here.”  His fingers brushed mine as he took the files, warm and soft. 

He turned away, dismissing me from his attention, handing out the folders to the five men with murmured instructions as he walked them to the door.  Once the door was firmly shut behind them, Tom gave me a slower, lingering examination before he strode back to me standing by his desk, pulling me into his arms.

“Miss Brown.  Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”  His gaze lingered on my lips for a long moment until he claimed my mouth in a kiss.  I melted into his grip, my hands stroking the gray lapels of his jacket.  His mouth trailed fire up my jaw, his scruff scraping deliciously on my skin.  “ _Love_ those shoes, starling,” he breathed into my ear.

I swallowed against the sudden dryness of my throat, every bit of liquid in my body rushing between my legs even as he stepped back, the air around me seeming colder without his touch.  “Sir… what’s going on?”

Tom grimaced, long fingers combing through his curls, then stroking down his throat.  “Nick Barrett was a dead end.  A set up.”

“Oh.  Is he… did he…”

With a gentle smile, Tom tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.  “Do you mean to say, ‘how many broken bones did it take for me to figure it out?’  Don’t worry, sweet.  I searched his apartment before I began the interrogation and something… just didn’t add up with his answers.  Mr. Barrett is relatively unscathed and I paid him a pretty penny to keep his silence.  Someone worked very hard to make me think it was Barrett and I have a strong suspicion who it was.  Those files you pulled should help me prove it.”

He stopped my next question with another hungry kiss and then he was pulling away, turning me towards the door. 

“I want you to stay the rest of the day.  I am hoping it won’t take much longer to catch this bastard,” he said into my neck before sealing his lips to the tender skin and sucking hard.  My knees shook, slumping me in his arms, until he set me back on my feet and waved me out, back to work, business as usual.

*****

"Miss Brown, when a woman named Marguerite arrives, tell her I’ll be out shortly."

I tipped my head, looking up at him curiously from the letter I was transcribing, not at all sure that I had heard what I thought.  "Marguerite, sir?" I asked quietly, mindful of Tom’s lieutenants moving in and around the office.

"Yes, I'll be taking her to the Crystal Room tonight."

It was the casual way he had said it that stabbed through me.  As if this information should mean nothing to me.  Just… a work day as normal, as if I couldn’t still feel the burn his scruff had left on my neck, as if I hadn’t spent the morning entwined in his long limbs.  He hadn’t even stopped moving, barely even looking at me as he had announced off-hand that he had a date tonight.

With another woman.  The air in the room felt suddenly too thin and my chest ached.  He was going out.  I must have looked as dumbfounded as I felt, because when Tom- Mr. Hiddleston?- returned from the hallway, he crossed to my desk with a quick glance over his shoulder at Martin, sitting in the corner looking over one of the files I had retrieved.  His body blocked me from the other man’s view as he leaned in across my desk, a small smile dancing on his lips.

"Oh, Kate.  You are my little secret," he said, his voice low and urgent.  “My sinful, eager starling.  I can’t have anyone knowing about you..."  He glanced back at Martin in warning.

“But… sir-” I stammered, not even sure what I intended to say.

“Boss!  I got a bite-”

Tom straightened, his shoulders squaring and his smile disappearing as another of his lieutenants barreled through the door.  I could feel him disengage, feel the air being drawn out of the room, leaving me deflated, aimless.

I tried to force a smile for him, although Tom was no longer paying attention to me, taking Martin and the new arrival back into his office.  _This shouldn’t bother you so much,_ I scolded myself.  _He never said you were his girlfriend.  He never said…_

But what about what he _had_ said, that morning, last night…  My heart clenched, stuttered, thumped awkwardly in my chest.  Had I misread everything?  I turned my eyes back to my work, unable to see the short hand through my tears.  Was I really just a dirty secret?  _Stupid girl.  What made you think you were anything but?_

_He wants to keep me safe.  That’s why he’s going with someone else.  It must be about the traitor, maybe he’s going to meet the shipper of the vodka that he lost, to see who took it.  It’s just a business dinner..._

_And you know what he does after business dinners._

After a few failed attempts to calm my mind by focusing on the letter in front of me, I gave up.  Everything hurt, from my head to my fingers.  I told myself that I was reading too much into this, that I was overreacting.  But I couldn’t stop reliving that moment, the one where my lover hadn’t even paused to think if I might mind him going on a date with someone else. 

I stacked up the unused or returned files that were littering my desk and stared at them for a long moment, imagining the paper scattered everywhere if I shoved them to the floor and just left. Instead, I took the unneeded files back down to the archive.  A little flame of spite lit in my chest.  _I will not sit around and wait for your woman.  You can tell her to wait yourself._  But it was a very tiny flame- I was still in the building, after all, I just wasn’t doing what he asked.  _A terrible rebellion,_ I thought,  rolling my eyes.  _Punish him by doing work you had to do anyway..._

I stayed down among the boxes and drawers and shelves until I was sure that Tom and Marguerite had left for the Crystal Room.  The famous jazz club bought most of their alcohol from Tom, although the staff didn’t know that.  Tom went there often to gladhand the trendsetters and policy makers who frequented the club.  It was as safe a place as any, since the cops were too afraid to raid a restaurant filled with politicians and famous actors, even if it was obviously flouting the law.

I had my own plans.  I gathered my coat and purse, wrapping the former around me to ward off the fall chill, and caught a trolley towards home.  I got off a few blocks early and walked along the crowded streets until I got to a plain green door set down a few steps from the pavement.  I knocked, grimacing at the flakes of paint that came off on my knuckles.  The grille window slid open and a beady eye peeked out.

“Dr. Caligari,” I said before the man on the other side even asked for the password.

He unlocked the door and I stepped through into a long dim hallway.  And at the other end was _my_ club, the one where my friends and I would spend our paychecks and dance our troubles away.  _My_ world, serving rotgut whiskey and bathtub gin.  Unknown musicians played the most popular songs on a wooden structure that barely counted as a stage.  Booths lined the walls, dark and stained with spilled food… and sometimes blood.  Glamorous it was not- but it felt like home.

I scanned the room for people I knew, not sure if I was upset or relieved to not find anyone.  With a sigh, I sat at the bar, ordering whatever was cheapest.  It tasted awful, the burning alcohol covered with too much lemon and sugar, but I didn’t care tonight.

I scowled at the ice melting in my drink. _You wouldn't have wanted to go anyway.  The Crystal Room, yes, but sitting across from a buyer or another boss?_  My stomach lurched at the thought.  _If he had asked…_

But he hadn't asked. 

Why would he?  I wasn't his girlfriend.  I jumped a bit at the loud _thump_ my empty glass made when I put it back on the bar, maybe a little harder than I intended.  What was I?  More than a few nights of sex- I couldn't have misread the way he looked at me that badly… and if this were just sex, he would have booted me out the door last night when I stopped him.  I sipped the sickly-sweet concoction in my hand, floundering to get back to that place I had been… yesterday?  The day before?  To enjoy what I got and not worry about the rest... It had seemed easy then.  Had I really been at peace with that idea or had I only been pretending?

Two more drinks and an hour later, I had mostly convinced myself that I was fine not being Tom's girlfriend.  Mostly.

A man slid onto the stool next to me.  I turned away from him, pretending to be interested in the band, swaying half-heartedly to the music.  I could feel his gaze traveling up and down my back and suppressed a small shudder.  He was well-dressed enough, a sharp suit and slicked back hair, his narrow face smooth shaven- in other circumstances I might have talked to him.  Tonight, I just wanted to be alone.  My chest ached from missing Tom and I couldn’t stop wondering if Marguerite was the kind of woman who flirted with casual touches; her hand on his arm, his thigh, his ass… a sultry giggle in his ear as they danced... 

I hunched my shoulders a bit, still feeling the eyes of my neighbor on my back.  I didn't think he had looked elsewhere since he sat down.  My skin was beginning to crawl and I knew my cocoon of solitary misery was not coming back, thanks to that drugstore cowboy.  Scrunching my face up in a petulant grimace, I put down enough money to cover my tab and slipped my wallet back in my purse.

I was reaching for my coat when I heard the distinctive _click_ of a switchblade over the wailing of the band's saxophone.  I froze, but the world still tilted crazily around me as I felt the blade pressed along my thigh under the bar. 

_Oh God.  Oh God oh God oh God…_

"Not a word, doll," the man behind me murmured, leaning close enough that I could smell the fresh smoke on his breath.  "I'd hate for my hand to slip and ruin that pretty skirt." 

I couldn't breathe; my heart hammering madly against my ribs seemed to be the only part of me capable of moving.  My jaw was slack with shock, my lips numb.

"That's it, doll.  You're Kate Brown.  Right?  We're going to get out of here.  Don't want anybody telling your boss what happened.  Nice and slow, now, stand up and walk to the door."

_My boss?_

I stood, my legs shaking and threatening to collapse out from under me.  He switched his grip on the blade, holding my arm so that the knife was hidden, pressing against my ribs.  I was absurdly grateful for the layer of fabric between me and the metal.  I knew it was flimsy protection, but not being able to feel the cold blade on my skin suddenly seemed like a great mercy.  I put one foot in front of the other as carefully as I could, staring at the floor,  willing myself not to vomit- or trip.  As he prodded me out the back door and into the alley, the fear began to cut through my alcoholic haze, the adrenaline lighting all my senses on fire.

"Put this on."

Never moving the knife from my ribs, he produced a strip of fabric and dangled it in front of my eyes from his free hand. 

A part of me- a part that wasn’t quaking and nearly sobbing- wondered that I managed to tie the blindfold with my fingers numb and trembling.  But I did, and when I had, the man gripped my upper arm hard enough that I had to bite my lip and marched me away from the club.  I shivered in the crisp, cold air, that detached part of me wishing he had let me put my coat on before pulling the knife.

After a block or so of me stumbling and tripping and him hauling me back against him, we stopped.  He leaned away for a moment until I heard the click of a door and then he was half-helping, half-shoving me awkwardly into the backseat of a car.  Once I was inside, he yanked my hands together, his motions efficient, the rope rough on my wrists as he tied them in front of me. 

I felt the breeze on my face as he slammed the door, felt the rattle of the frame as it hit.  I had just enough time to shift on the bench into a more stable position before I heard the driver's door open and shut again.

The sound of the engine roaring to life covered the sob that clawed it's way out of my throat, the blindfold soaking up my helpless tears as the car pulled away from the curb.


	8. Trade Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so SO much for sticking with this story. Thank you for all the support and patience and messages you’ve given me and Tom and Kate. I can’t promise when I’ll have the next chapter finished, but I CAN promise that I am working on it as quickly as I can. :)
> 
> 20’s slang: brown plaid- Scotch whiskey; doll- a woman; hatchet man- professional killer; Cs- hundred dollar bills; to knock off- to kill; Thomas Meighan- movie star; A Woman of Paris- movie; bird- a guy; on the spot- marked for death; goon- a thug

Tom’s eyes roamed the large and lavish room, his fingers idly spinning a fork on the tablecloth.  The maitre’d had said- after a discreet bribe- that Clayton’s reservation was at eight, so he had some time before dealing with that bit of trouble.  Time enough for dinner, possibly dessert; a chance to enjoy the singer on the stage, her sultry voice floating over the buzzing conversation of the diners.  The club was hopping with activity tonight, the tables ringing the sunken dance floor nearly all full.  He absently made note of who was there- _Hm,_ _Thomas Meighan is here.  New movie?_ \- filing away the information in his head much the same way Kate tended the files for both his businesses.

Ah, Kate.  He had recognized the look on her face when he mentioned Marguerite.  Jealous, confused, even a little heartbroken.  If only he’d had more time and privacy to explain… He would have much preferred having Kate here with him, seated in his shadowed booth along the back wall, her breath quickening just so when he caressed her knee, slipping his fingers under the hem of her skirt beneath the table.

He would make it up to her- maybe he would buy her something pretty. _Yes… a necklace,_ he thought _._  A diamond choker, with the sparkling gems dripping down her throat?   _No, that’s not quite right- ah!_ _Garnets._ Not as expensive, perhaps, but they would look lovely next to her pale skin, the stones the same color as her lips after he’d kissed them swollen and plump.  He’d buy her a long strand of garnets, long enough for him to wrap several times around her slim wrists.  He would stretch her out on his bed, delightfully naked and bound in dark red jewels, arms extended above her head, perfectly laid out for him to enjoy…

And then he would bury his face between her legs until she was a shaking, quivering mess, his chin dripping with her come.

He shifted on the bench seat at the idea, practically tasting her on his tongue.  And _then_ he would take her so slowly, sweetly, savoring her and her supple body. God, her body in his bed.  Soft and pliant, creamy skin and lush curves, all for him to explore and taste and caress.

“… and _A Woman of Paris_.  Have you seen that one?  It’s tragic, so sad, at the end- oh but I shouldn’t ruin it for you, Tom.” Marguerite leaned forward, close enough that he could smell the fresh rose in her hair.  Her tongue toyed at the corner of her mouth, her chin propped on her wrist.  “Do you like romantic movies, Tom?  They’re really my favorite, I love the sad ones.”

He shook his head, eyebrow quirked as he lifted his tumbler of scotch to his lips.   “I prefer Keaton and Chaplin, myself.”

Marguerite was just here as an excuse, her prattle about movies a benign distraction.  It would have seemed odd for Tom to come here alone, inviting gossip- or worse, a woman who saw him as an available target for a romance.  But he was not about to parade around an actual lover, painting a bullseye on her back, especially if anyone got wind of how involved Kate really was in his endeavors.  No, it was comforting to know that Kate was safe and sound at her apartment, even if her feelings were a bit hurt tonight.

”Oh, Chaplin is a _genius_!   Do you know- I guess you don’t- he directed and produced _A Woman of Paris_?  Not his normal style, but it is amazing!  Wrote it too.  Once, I was with this bird- I’m not seeing him now, obviously, but then- he looked just like Charlie…”

Paid company, like his current date, was always easy to find.  They were beautiful women- after all, they were there to be decoration as much as his tie, a way to express his power.  Some were clever, others were not.  Some of them he slept with, some he didn’t- occasionally he let whoever he was dealing with “steal” her  from him.  Nothing made a man feel superior like taking an attractive woman from a rival.  The women were willing to be stolen, of course; he paid them extra to be.

They were all willing to do many things, for the right price.  And he never left them unsatisfied, the ones he took back to his office.  They indulged his preferences- thinking, he was sure, that pleasing him would earn a permanent payout from his wallet.  Like Marguerite, making flirting small talk as they ate, eyeing him with a sultry cock of her brow- angling for a bit extra on the side.  

Tom swiped a piece of bread around his plate, soaking up the last juices from his steak.  His eye caught movement on the far side of the club- a short, portly man being led to a table with an elegant tall woman.   _There you are_.  Richard Clayton might look like a good candidate for gout, but he was as sharp as a steel tack.  And the woman beside him, with sleek black hair and dripping with diamonds, was just as dangerous, he suspected.  He had never heard Clayton’s wife speak anything but Italian, but he was sure that the more cunning and ruthless moves their organization made were her idea.

“Do you dance, Tom?” Marguerite asked, running her tongue along her bottom lip.

Tom glanced at his competitor again, considering.   _Clayton is always easier to deal with after he’d had a few drinks._  There was time to kill yet.  “I do,” he said, slipping out from the booth and offering her his hand.

Her fingers were cold in his as he helped her stand.  She “stumbled” against him then brushed her hands down her thighs in a display of smoothing her dress.

Tom gave her a tight smile.  “I told you before, Marguerite.  I am not looking for that sort of company tonight.”

“Oh, but you can’t blame a girl for trying, can you?” she giggled, leaning close and running his tie through her fingers.  “After all, you might change your mind.”  With a coy wink, she turned, the exaggerated sway of her walk gathering stares from many of the male patrons on her way to the dance floor.

The music was fast and the floor crowded.  Tom was happy to let Marguerite dance at arm’s length, to let her sway and shimmy without touching him.  Tom swung his body to the beat, hips snapping, losing himself briefly in the flow of the music through his blood.  Just last night he had moved like this, with Kate held snug against his pelvis, letting her feel her effect on him, feel every undulation…

He opened his eyes, finding Clayton’s table as he spun around the floor, twirling his date along with him.  The couple was deep in conversation, Clayton feeding his wife a piece of bread.  She bit it from his fingers and offered him her drink.   _How does he do it?_  Perhaps it was because Isabelle Clayton looked as if she were capable of anything. Anyone who came after her would likely end up shot- or strangled with a diamond necklace.  The thought of shy Kate Brown defending herself like that was nearly laughable, even though her father must have taught her _something_.

_Now_.  Tom abandoned Marguerite to her dancing with an apologetic nod and slipped through the crowd, dodging waiters and tables with casual grace until he reached Clayton’s table. Without a word, he pulled out a chair and slid into it, letting his knees splay wide under the tablecloth.

“Mr. Hiddleston,” the fat man nodded, unfazed by Tom’s abrupt appearance. “How nice to see you.  Won’t you have a seat.”

Tom leaned back, resting his hands on his thighs.  “Thank you.  The band is talented tonight, isn’t it?  Quite the singer they have.”

“Yes, yes, she has a lovely voice.  Weather’s nice too, etcetera etcetera.  I’m surprised to find you out on a date tonight.”  Clayton gestured with his drink, encompassing the club’s main room with its arched entryway and detailed murals.  “I heard your office has a rodent problem.”

“Not much of a problem, in honesty.  I’ve set my traps.  Now, it’s just a matter of waiting.”  Tom straightened from his comfortable recline, drumming his fingers on the table to the beat of the music.  “Why didn’t you keep him on?  He was one of my inner circle, he could have told you anything you wanted to know.”

Clayton snorted.  “Asked for the moon.  It’s no secret how I feel about traitors- and one who wants to milk me dry is no interest. Your secrets are not worth that much to me.”  He lifted his glass again in a sardonic salute before taking a long sip of wine.

“Mm.  How are you enjoying my vodka, by the way?  Worth what you paid to steal it?“  Tom rubbed his finger over his upper lip in slow contemplation, his thumb on his chin, his voice friendly.  Isabelle turned her nose up, making sure he saw her looking away at the stage.

“It’s selling for a very pretty penny.  Speaking of-”  Clayton sat forward, his eyes bright and his smile greedy.  “How did you manage to get so much vodka out of Russia and onto a Portuguese boat?”

“Ah, trade secret.”  Tom pressed his index finger to the side of his nose and dropped a knowing wink.  He propped his elbows on the tabletop, braiding his fingers together.  “I do hope you make enough profit off my vodka to offset the loss of your warehouse on 6th.”

The other man coughed on his mouthful of wine, thumping the glass down despite its delicate structure.  “What happen- How do you even _know_ about that one?  What happened to it?  What did you do, Hiddleston?”

Tom let a small, smug smile form on his lips, careful not to let it blossom into the grin he felt inside.  “I’d tell you, but it would cost you the moon.  And after losing all that whiskey, port, and even the legal textiles? Well, my dear sir, you simply can’t afford it.”

Clayton’s face was beautiful to behold.  His cheeks flushed, his eyes widened, his mouth formed words but no sound came out.  Isabelle’s glare was sharp enough to cut and she muttered a fierce string of Italian under her breath.  Tom’s smile grew, certain he’d been cursed in the filthiest way.  He pushed his chair away from the table, unfolding himself to his full height, slowly, deliberately, one hand buttoning his jacket with deft fingers.

“I hope you have a lovely evening,” he said with false politeness, nodding to the impotent, angry couple.  “The steak is delicious tonight, it would go fabulously with that wine.” He turned and sauntered away, still smiling.   _What a lovely night.  Dancing, good food, revenge.  And now… mmm, a bit of pudding._

*****

I lurched forward as the car came to an abrupt stop.  My captor was an aggressive driver and I had been tossed around the backseat for what felt like an hour.  I had certainly been brought far outside of Tom’s territory.  That thought chilled me to the bone and I shuddered, covered in sudden goosebumps.   _How will he find me?_

Would he even be looking?

The car door opened and I was yanked out.  With a tight grip on my arm, the man marched me up a set of stairs, growling when I slipped and hit my shins over and over.  I hissed under my breath at the sharp pain.  It seemed like only one flight before he was dragging me down a hallway.  I heard a key and a door opening and then I was shoved across a threshold.

I know because I tripped on it.

I stumbled but stayed on my feet, breathing hard, my heart racing. Where was I, who was he, what was going to happen to me?  The burn of scrapes on my shins, the scratch of the rope on my wrists, the darkness I had been in since the Green Frog- I inhaled slowly to calm myself and choked on my own breath, the coughs turning into deep wracking sobs.  My body shook with the force of them, the fear that I had tamped down in the car surfacing with a bone-rattling ferocity.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” my captor muttered in my ear.  

The blindfold was jerked off my head.  I couldn’t see at first, my eyes swimming with tears.  I tried to force my breathing to settle, to get myself back under control.  I had to be calm, I had to think clearly.  But I just… _couldn’t_.  My lungs felt out of air, my chest spasming with terror as I gulped oxygen only to turn it into another hitching wail.  The man pushed me down into a chair that wobbled under the force of my crying.

Other details began to filter through my panic as my body wrung itself out, emotion giving way to exhaustion.  The dim light from a naked bulb hanging above me.  The appliances with chipped paint, rusting underneath.  The bare brick walls.  The tarnished brass bedframe holding a sagging mattress.

And the man who had led me out of the bar at knife-point, sitting across a scratched wooden table from me.  When he caught me watching him with mostly clear eyes, he sighed with relief.

“Hate a woman wailing,” he grumbled.  “I’m not going to hurt you, yeah?”

I blinked slowly, snuffling through my clogged nose.  He looked familiar. _Where…?_

_…Tom’s office._ Standing outside the door, leering at me as I walked to my desk with my hair ruffled and dress wrinkled.  After Tom and I had-

“Jimmy Franklin,” I whispered, my voice thick and hoarse.  His hair was slicked back differently, his cheeks smooth instead of bearded; in the smoky, low light of the Frog I hadn’t recognized him at all.  “What…?”

Franklin pulled a cigarette from a silver holder, tapping it on the table absently while his other hand reached into his pocket for matches.  “Hiddleston is looking for me.  You are my ticket out.  Obvious, isn’t it?”

_Good luck with that,_ I thought with a resentful stab of bitterness. _I’m… just his secretary.  At best, I’m his “dirty secret.”  He’s not going to compromise his business for that._ Shaking my head, I tried to concentrate; my thoughts were dull, fuzzy, my head stuffed full of cotton and molasses.  I scrubbed my bound hands over my face, wiping away the tears and snot. “Why didn’t you just leave town already? It’s been days…”

He barked a harsh laugh.  “Because I want my money.  Hiddleston’s got his fucking goons crawling all over my place, just waiting for me to show up.  I’m not skipping town without my Cs.”  He slapped the table then balled his hand into a fist.  “I was _sure_ he was going to fall for Barrett.  I planted enough evidence on him that anything the bastard _said_ shouldn’t have made a difference.  I had plans, you know?  If Clayton didn’t want info- someone would, yeah?  I could milk that.  But now I’m on the spot, my place is being watched, and Thomas Hiddleston is a vindictive asshole, out looking for me.”

He sat back in his chair, snarling under his breath as he struck a match across the book.  Sulfur and smoke filled the air, the sound of his exhales mixing with the creaks of the building and the street noise outside.  I stared at my bound wrists, twisting them in the rope, wiggling my fingers to combat the pins and needles, more to keep from crying again than from any hope of escape.   _Well now what._

_Keep him talking.  Get information.  For…_ _something._  “You don’t, uh… Um, why take _me_?”  

“I’d rather have snatched Martin, yeah?  Hiddleston would miss _him_ real quick.  But I’ll admit it- he’s got a gun.  Fucking quick shot, that one.  You were the easiest target, I’ll take what I get.  Hiddleston seems to like you.”  He shrugged, a flick of his thumb sending ashes skittering across the tabletop.

My throat closed on those words and I swallowed hard.  He “seemed to like me.”   _He seemed to like me in his bed just fine, sure, but now…_  The silence stretched out- punctuated by the occasional smoke ring- as I struggled just to breathe past the despairing weight on my chest.  My ribs felt too tight, painfully restrictive with not enough room for my lungs to work.

I flinched at the sound of Franklin’s chair scraping the floor as he pushed back from the table and flipped the end of his cigarette into the sink.

“It’s late.  You took your time leaving work tonight, dammit.  Hiddleston left _half an hour_ before you with that skirt.”  He shook his head, as if he were upset that I hadn’t cleared my schedule for his abduction.  “The toilet’s down the hall, shared.  There’s no window or anything, so don’t get any ideas.  I’ll untie you and wait outside.  Come on.”

He walked me down the hall, just as ramshackle as the one room apartment we had been in, and stopped at the end.  He undid the knot on my rope, winding it around his arm as he kicked open the door and jerked his head towards the tiny room.

Once inside, the door solidly shut behind me, I collapsed back against it, grateful for the brief privacy.  

My earlier panic-driven sobbing had left me wrung out and numb.  I splashed water on my face from the chipped sink.  Coldly logical, I stared at my reflection in the mirror above it, looking past the cracks in the glass.  My eyes were puffy and red, my cheeks blotchy and flushed.   _This is it, you know.  You’re going to die.  He’s going to kill you._  My lower lip quivered; I pressed the back of my hand against it, against the sobs that tried to crawl back up my throat.  

_No.  He doesn’t want me dead.  Not yet._

_Not until Tom turns down my ransom._  I swallowed, shutting my eyes under the wave of helpless terror that threatened to drown me, the weight crushing down on my chest again.

_No.  No, Tom will get me out of this.  He will._

A small, weaselly thought, unbidden and full of doubt, chimed in, _After tonight?_  

_This is exactly what he wanted to protect me from by leaving me behind,_ I argued with myself. _He will get me out of this.  He spent this morning with his head between my legs, he called me his good girl, his sweet, brave starling.  He won’t let Franklin kill me.  I’m his starling. I’m_ his _._

I pulled the neckline of my dress to the side, tracing the mark of his teeth on my shoulder.  He wouldn’t let anything happen to me.  He had been trying to keep me safe and if I hadn’t run off to the speakeasy to sulk about it…  I took a few more deep breaths, becoming more and more certain with each one that Tom _would_ find me, or pay my ransom, and that I could be brave for him until then. The trembling in my limbs steadied, stopped.  Until Franklin pounded on the door in impatience, making me jump and my heart hammer again.  

The walk back down the hall was silent and grim.  I repeated it in my head with each step, _I’m his starling. Be brave.  I’m his starling.  He’ll find me._

The apartment didn’t look any less ramshackle for my new resolve, and as much as I wanted to be brave, it was hard to feel anything but vulnerable when Franklin told me to take off my shoes and stockings.  I arranged them by my chair, stalling by folding my stockings precisely and putting them just so on top of my shoes.  There was only the one bed, dilapidated and dirty.  There wasn’t a couch or even a rug to sleep on and I looked at him in mounting dread as he re-tied my hands.

“What are you waiting for?  A damn invitation?” he grumbled.  “Get in the bed.”

“Um… but…” I stammered out.

The man pulled me close by my bound hands, close enough for me to feel his breath on my face.  “The heat in this place is damn near busted, yeah?  We’ll keep each other warm and cozy.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly shaking from head to toe, my eyes wide and my mouth hanging open on a frozen breath.

“Oh, don’t look so worried.  I’m not interested in one of Hiddleston’s degraded whores,” Franklin spat.  "Oh yes, I heard you in his office.  Heard him, calling you filthy names, and you begging for more.  Pathetic.“  He shook his head, shoving me backwards onto the bed and flinging my hands away from him with a grimace.

My cheeks flooded with heated embarrassment as I sat down hard on the mattress.  I stared at a dark stain on the coverlet, trying to cover my reaction to being overheard, knowing that he could see just how his words had affected me.

"What did he do?” he went on, sneering.  “Did he profess his love?  Offer you money, jewelry?  Or is that just the best way to get a day off, spending some time under _Mr._ Hiddleston?”

“No- no… it isn’t like that…” I whispered, my throat tight, my face burning.  

“I assumed you were smart, what with all that typing and shit you do. But you’re as flutter-eyed and _sentimental_ as the rest of your gender, yeah?  You’re just his whore du jour,” he smirked at his own wordplay, “he’ll leave you broken just like he did the other ones.”

“What… what do you mean, broken?”   _He never sees them more than once or twice.._. The memory of me, bent nearly in half, his hips snapping hard while I bit my lip on my cries- but he had stopped. _He stopped when I said… and then_ he _said-_

Franklin snorted.  “Surely you know what Thomas Hiddleston does to people when things don’t go his way.”

_It isn’t like that._ Even in my head, it sounded weak.  I already knew I wasn’t his girlfriend or his first- or even _tenth_ \- lover. _I wanted to be_ his _… so badly…_ And I _did_ know what he did to people who crossed him.  

People like Franklin, who was looping the extra rope around the bed frame, snugging the knot tight but leaving me enough slack to turn freely. He turned off the light, making his way back to the bed by the glow of the streetlight out the tiny, grimy window. Laying down, he pulled the covers over both of us, but not before he made sure I saw the pistol he slid under his pillow.

_Was someone else his “starling” before me?  Someone who bothered him after a while and then he…?_  Fresh tears slipped hot and bitter down my cheeks. Tom had slept with more than his share of women- why should I think I was special?  Why should I think I was anything more than another “degraded whore.” But… he had brought me to his house. He had introduced me to his mother without hesitation or dissembling.  

Only, he had brought me to his house because he thought his mother wasn’t there.  Would he have done it otherwise?  The things we had done… the way he whispered in my ear, the way he unlocked such strong passion in me, the way he bit and grabbed and pinned me down… was it wrong that I enjoyed it so much?  Tom had told me that it wasn’t.  But had Tom only said that to get into my skirt?  What would happen when he got bored of me?

I rolled over, wiggling to find a comfortable spot, freezing when Franklin stirred next to me.   _Would he have Martin or a hatchet man pull the trigger?  He wouldn’t do it himself, would he…?_  A minute later, I gingerly shifted again to my other side, and then again, this time to my back, my tied and tethered hands making every position awkward.  I stared into the dark, my blood pounding at the idea of facing Tom over a gun.  

I forced my eyes shut, struggling to control my breathing, digging my nails into my palms.   _This is ridiculous.  Tom is_ not _going to knock me off._  But as soon as the thought crossed my mind, a scene began to play behind my closed lids.

_A massive, faceless, hulking goon, standing in front of Tom’s office. “Mr. Hiddleston doesn’t want to see you,” he says in a rumble as he drags me away from the door, shrieking, down the hall and stairs.  Blows to belly and back and arms… Flung out on the sidewalk like so much garbage, gasping and coughing for breath, body aching.  “Don’t come back- in fact, best leave town, doll.”_

_“… leave you broken, just like the other ones…”_

My eyes popped back open, my heart racing.  I whipped my head back and forth to rattle that picture out of my imagination.   _No! Are you going to take the word of a traitor over Tom’s?  If he was the type, he wouldn’t have been so patient last night.  The Tom you know- the Tom you’ve_ slept with- _would never call a hit on you or have you beaten up.  You know Tom…_

Yes, I knew Tom.  I knew the charming, quick with a witty anecdote Tom, owner of Cymbeline Electrics, who wooed investors and mingled with high society.  I knew the rough yet tender, demanding yet patient lover Tom, full of fire and heat- _oh God, his heat…_  I knew the ruthless, coldly calculating Tom, swift to take revenge and set an example, juggling secrecy and profit with ease.  I even knew the slightly fawning golden boy he was with his mother- the mother I hadn’t even known was still alive, let alone that she lived with him.

I chewed my lip, rolling over once more.  Yes, I knew Tom.  The problem was, I knew too many Toms, too many disparate pieces that I couldn’t connect. I tried closing my eyes again, the same terrifying fantasy dancing through my mind.

_No, no,_ no _!_ I screamed at myself.   _I will_ not _imagine this again, think of something else!_

Nothing would distract my brain from picturing Tom’s office, my desk neatly arranged, the clock ticking peacefully on the wall.  The threatening goon at the door.

_Think about puppies or rainbows or fucking long division, just anything but this, don’t imagine this again…_ I whimpered internally, my imaginary feet dragging ever closer to the door no matter how much I tried to concentrate on seven hundred twelve divided by sixteen.

_The goon grabs me and as I struggle in his grip, his featureless face begins to resolve into dark, warm blue eyes, a crooked fat nose, a face that had taken more than its share of punishment but that was smiling- a gentle, bright smile._

And suddenly the scene wasn’t my future, but my past- my very first time in that office, dreading my interview with the infamous Tom Hiddleston, clutching my folder of papers to my chest like armor over my hammering heart. I could still feel the churning, weightless feeling in my stomach like it was yesterday.  Da had put an arm around my shoulders, keeping me from running right back out the door and down the stairs.  

_“I’m gonna go, don’t want you to think that you got this job because of me.  I only gave him your paper, Kate- him wanting you for an interview had nothing to do with me,right?  I know you’re awful nervous, I know you’ve heard the stories about him from me and everybody.  I won’t lie- he’s a hard man, he’s got to be in this business and he’s one of the best. He, um, does what he’s got to… but he’s_ fair _And he takes care of his own.  You do well by him and he’ll do you the same, to the end.  You’ll do fine with him, Kate, fine…”_

_“…You do well by him and he’ll do you the same, to the end…”_


	9. It's Just Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1920s slang: brown plaid- Scotch whiskey; doll- a woman; goon- a thug; carry a torch- have a crush on; cord girls- telephone operators; bulls- cops; hot squat- death by electric chair; grand/thou- a thousand dollars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t thank you all enough for sticking with this story- I know it’s a pain to go months between updates and it would be really easy to forget about, so I am so honored that you remember and spend some of your time with my Tom and Kate. There’s probably two chapters after this (the next one has smut again, yay!) I hope you like this one *crosses fingers.*

The first thing that struck him as odd was that the office was empty.  He paused in the doorway for a moment, looking around.  The air was unnaturally still and quiet, the way rooms became when they were unoccupied for a long period.

Tom walked over to the desk in the lobby, trailing his fingers along the top of the blotter.  There was no paper in the typewriter.  No pencils freshly sharpened for the day.  The legal pad that she used to brief him on his meetings each morning was sitting to the side, blank. 

He frowned.  Even if Kate was having a bit of a sulk after Saturday night, he had expected her to be in the office on time today.  He had made a few calls to the shared line of her apartment on Sunday, always with the same result.  A neighbor would answer, run to knock on her door, and return in a minute to tell him that she wasn’t home.  He had been annoyed at her childish refusal to talk to him, but hadn’t given it much more thought, confident that she would be here typing away by the time he came into the office and they would discuss it then.

Kate was never late.  That was just who she was- in seven years, he could only recall a handful of times that she hadn't arrived promptly at eight A.M.

In hindsight, that’s when he should have realized what had happened.  Instead, he went into his office and shut the door, ignoring the anxious twist in his stomach.  He began to look over the papers he had left there Saturday night.  Notes on the possible prices for the goods he’d stolen from Clayton, requests from clubs and speakeasies, a diagram for a new type of electric iron he was considering producing.  He was certain that Kate would arrive soon, likely out of breath with an excuse of a late streetcar.

It was when his nine-thirty coffee didn’t appear on his desk that he next noticed her absence, a small cold sliver stabbing at the bottom of his spine.  He stuck his head back out into the lobby, his heart lurching hard when he saw her desk still untouched.  He returned to his desk and picked up the telephone, pacing a tight, precise square while he waited for the call to connect.

The call went the same way all the ones on Sunday had gone- “There was no answer at Kate’s door, she must be out, mister,” said her chatty neighbor- until he asked if she, or anyone else, had seen Kate since Saturday afternoon. 

“Someone must have, with the shared facilities on the floor…?”

He hardly needed to hear Mary’s answer by that point, the nagging twist in his stomach turning to a lead weight.  He put his palm flat on the smooth wood of his desk as the woman talked, pushing down hard enough to make the muscles in his arm stand out in stark relief.  He thanked her calmly, hung up the handpiece with a careful breath, and curled his hand into a slow fist, scraping his fingernails across the varnish.

_Jimmy fucking Franklin, that greedy fucking asshole._

He had no _proof_ that Franklin was responsible for Kate’s disappearing act.  But his instincts were screaming at him now, the pieces falling into place.  Not much else would keep Kate from work… from _him_.  He could see it, how it might have happened- Kate walking home alone in the dark, huddled in that coat that was too big for her, Franklin holding her at gunpoint, grabbing her...

He grimaced.  A hostage situation was not ideal- paying ransoms was a tricky business.  Tom Hiddleston was known as hard, uncompromising, ruthless.  To give in to a ransom demand left the door open for others to try the same trick and his competitors would eat him alive with that vulnerability.

But for Kate…?  Was he willing to risk that for her?  Kate, with her soft little sighs.  Her luminous blue eyes, staring up at him from between his knees.  The tiny, quiet gasp that always escaped when he pressed into her, just before she clenched around him, her body pulling him deeper.  It was delicious agony, fighting against that pull, to keep from plundering her completely for himself.

He strode over to the bar cart in the corner, reaching under for the expensive bottle of Irish whiskey he’d imported from County Galway.  The amber liquid caught the light as he poured a generous portion, the scent of smoky peat wafting up from the glass before he tipped it back, downing it in three large swallows.  His eyes watered at the burn in his sinuses as he slammed the tumbler back down.  The rattle of the other glasses on the tray was mildly satisfying,  although he thought hurling the whole thing at the opposite wall would be more so.

_I should have put a guard on her,_ he snarled at himself. 

But then again, a guard would have drawn unwanted attention- and she had never been a target in seven years.  Not until now.  Franklin must have realized that she was more than just his secretary.  _Yes,_ Tom thought, _he must have put it together that day he arrived early for our meeting…_ He shuddered at the idea of Franklin with his hands on Kate, leering at her the way he had that day.

Tom frowned at his glass.  He was growing dangerously fond of her.  The way she trembled even as she set her shoulders.  The way she lowered her eyes but not her head.  The small, subtle strength of her before him, under him, in his lap.  He would never forget the way she looked, bringing herself off on his thigh, wetting his leg- so embarrassed but so eager, flushed red and her lip caught between her teeth.  Her tiny, breathy whimpers, her mewls of desperation… all her small noises drove a primal, unexpected possession in him.  And it was in full force now, as much as it was when he had her in his bed.

He poured himself another generous splash of whiskey, gripping the neck of the bottle hard enough that his knuckles whitened.

_There are other women._

There were always women.  Beautiful, smart, wicked women, women who could make a man’s toes curl with just a glance.  This situation was exactly the reason he had chosen call girls and skirts.  He got the physical release he needed, with a whiff of feminine perfume; they got their money, and he did not get attached to them.  No risk of any of _them_ being used against him.  No, there was no lack of women in his life.

But none of them was Kate.

She'd fallen into his lap, as the saying went, much as smuggling had.  And like smuggling, Kate fit him in a way he hadn't expected.  He had never really _noticed_ her before that night; she had always just been quietly _there._   He had never seen her as an available woman until he had put her on her knees, her pulse hammering beneath his thumb, her eyes blown wide and dark with a look of such acute longing that he couldn't see her as anything else.

None of the women he had been with had ever bloomed under him like Kate did, like she had that night.  The way she seemed to become more comfortable in her own skin the tighter he gripped her, the more filth he whispered into her ear.  And oh, how eager she was to do as he told her.  As if obeying him were all she wanted, but was afraid that it wouldn't be enough.  It was always more than enough- the rush he felt when she yielded, trusting him despite her worry, the dreamy, timid look in her eyes when she surrendered to him...

It amplified his own desire, his own need.  Nothing felt like it did when he came inside her, stealing his breath and shooting through his veins like lightning.  She was the finest liquor, heady and sweet, burning and exhilarating.

The sound of the door jolted him from his thoughts.  He was surprised at the vicious stab of disappointment when the person entering turned out to be Martin.

He inhaled a long, deep breath, exhaled slowly through his nose and discreetly adjusted himself in his trousers before moving.  He was letting his cock have too much say in what was going on.  This was business, not a romantic movie.  He needed a clear head, to assess the situation clinically.  Making an example of Franklin was more important than his sexual desires.

_He'll kill her._

Tom swallowed against the unusual and unexpected lump in his throat.  _There are other women.  There are always other women.  You won't miss her for long.  This is just business._

“Hey, Tom.”  Martin nodded to him as he sat down on the couch.  “Nobody else here yet?  Guess they will be soon?”

“You’re early.  Drink?”  Tom gestured to the bottles on the bar cart.

“Gin, if you’ve got it.  I know we’re short on vodka,” the tall blond snorted.  “Still can’t believe that whole boatload’s gone.  Got more coming?”

“Of course.”  If his voice was taut and his words clipped, the other man didn't seem to notice.

By the time he was done pouring for Martin and refreshing his own whiskey, the rest of his inner circle had arrived, scattering themselves around the office.  Martin and Jenkins on the couch, Reimer leaning against the window.  Felton lurked near the door, the hulking man leaning on a cane- the autumn chill made the old gunshot wound in his thigh ache.  He’d need to find a replacement for Franklin soon...

“Gentlemen,” Tom greeted them with a tight, impatient smile.  “Let’s get down to it.  Mr. Martin, if you please.”

Martin sprawled his legs out in front of him, updating the crew on the watch of Franklin’s apartment between sips of gin.  To no one’s surprise, Franklin hadn’t been seen anywhere near his apartment. 

Tom glanced down at his glass, the last golden droplets clinging to the walls.  He rotated it in his fingers, watching the drops chase each other, flow together.  Had he ever seen Kate drink?  He couldn’t remember.  He knew that she _did_ ; she wasn’t a Prohibitionist.  But he could not recall a time that he had offered her one or that she had poured one for herself when serving him.  The image of her holding a cut glass tumbler, filled with something dark and sweet sprang into his mind.  Would her eyes water, would her cheeks flush?  How many drinks would it take before she was giggling in his arms- or was she a maudlin drunk?  His lips quirked up just a bit.  No, not maudlin- not his starling.

_Not_ my _Kate._

Once the men had all finished their updates, Tom put down his tumbler, moving to stand behind his desk.  He adjusted his jacket, rolling his shoulders within it before squaring them.  This was his armor, his suit.  This was his power, the image he projected.  He stood straight and tall, knowing exactly the sight he was presenting- cool, confident, imposing.  This was his business.

“Gentlemen.  There is a new piece in the game.”  He placed his hands on the desk.  “You may have noticed that Miss Brown is not here this morning…”  He gritted his teeth at the forced, polite concern from the men, waiting for them to fall silent again.  “Kate Brown has disappeared.  I believe she was abducted.  I want her found.”

His lieutenants erupted into protests, as he knew they would.  He let them talk over and interrupt each other, giving them a bit of time to vent their confusion and frustration: “We don’t have time for that!”  “Search for a _woman_?”  “Pay a ransom!  We've never-”  “Maybe she’s in on it-”  “I’ve got my best men watching that apartment and you want I should take them _off_?”  “-have to stay focused-”  “Can’t be serious!”

He wasn't surprised by their reluctance.  First, he was ordering them to find and rescue a hostage- and that, they had all agreed years ago, was not how they did business.  Hostages were unfortunate collateral.  Second, he was ordering them to find a woman, even if she was valuable to the business.  Only Felton had a wife; he was nodding with Tom, but also arguing to stay focused on their current path.  Martin and Jenkins were confirmed bachelors; Martin preferring his skirts with no attachment and Jenkins preferring his lovers without skirts.  To them, women were mostly interchange commodities.  He had always suspected that Reimer carried a torch for Kate- _although he’s nothing like her type,_ Tom thought with a mental sniff- which was why the slender lockpick was silent now.

His jaw clenched and Tom spoke in a low voice as he leaned forward.  “Yes, I am very serious.  Franklin must have taken her sometime between Saturday night and this morning.  I assure you- find her, and you will find _him_.”

Martin cleared his throat.  “Tom.  I’m not saying she wasn’t a cute little flapper, but…”

Tom’s gaze never wavered from his second-in-command, his blue eyes boring into the other man’s brown.  Martin was his oldest employee, his partner in many ways.  They had worked together seamlessly for many years.  He was the only one who could stand up under this stare.

“Tom, there’s a ton of other secretaries- my cousin just graduated, she’d love the job.  You can find another one in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah, but Kate was really smart, she knew all this office stuff in her sleep,” Reimer piped up, his words falling over each other as he spoke in a rush.  “She's kind of important, I mean, to this place, and I know we don't do hostages and all, but…”  He trailed off, shrinking a bit under the scrutiny of the other men.  “But maybe we could make an exception?” he finished with a squeak.

Martin ran his hand over his slicked hair, scratched his fingers through his close-trimmed beard, then addressed Tom as if Reimer hadn't spoken.  “And, um, Tom, have you thought… she might be in on it?  I mean, she had access to a lot if she used her key when you weren’t around and all...”

“Mr. Martin.  Miss Brown is not in league with Franklin.  I have no doubt about that.  But she _could_ be the key to finding him.  Reimer, you’ve had no luck tracking Franklin, he knows we’re looking for him.  But he must have been following Kate’s movements- and _she_ wasn’t trying to hide.  Someone might have seen something.  Go talk to her neighbors- and I’ll write down any places I know she frequents.  Ask around.  _Find her_.”

*****

When the telephone rang an hour later, Tom was calm. 

After his meeting with his lieutenants had adjourned, Tom had paced the office with barely contained energy.  Franklin was vulgar and could be brutal.  Tom needed someone like that.  Franklin might have started wearing sharp suits and smoking expensive cigarettes when Tom promoted him, but at heart he was a thug.  A smart one, but still a thug.  He was also greedy- sometimes blindly so.  Tom had used that greed to control him.

Tom thought he had a way to use that greed against him now, in case his men couldn't find Kate first.  All he had to do was offer the man an opportunity he couldn't refuse.  And to do that, he had to play his hand very, very carefully.

So when the telephone rang, he was calm, prepared.  There was no room for real emotion in this.  He had to play his part and make it convincing.

“Cymbeline Electrics.”

“Hiddleston.”

“Mr. Franklin.  To what do I owe the pleasure.”  Tom slid his hand down his tie, weaving the silk between his fingers.  He kept his tone even, almost detached.

“Oh, cut the crap, Hiddleston.  You know why I’m calling you.  You must have figured it out by now.” 

The voice on the other end of the line was venomous, belligerent… and just a hint afraid.  This was his last ploy, Franklin's only chance to get on top of a situation that had gone beyond his control.  He was a cat backed into a corner now, hissing and unpredictable.  Which was why Tom was going to offer him another way out.

“I’ve got your ‘secretary,’ yeah?”  Franklin paused to let him interject, which Tom didn’t.  He could practically hear the other man sweating.  “I’ve got her all tied up- fucking Hell, she sure cries a lot- and if you want to see her again, you’ll do what I want.”

Tom’s heart gave a heavy thump and he swallowed against the sudden constriction in his throat.  “Have you hurt her?  I want to talk to her first.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen.  If you think I’ve got the wrong doll, I’ll tell you she’s wearing a blue dress, no sleeves.”

“Now, Jimmy,” Tom said, his words filled with the soothing concern of an old friend.  “This has gotten all out of control.  We can deal with this, like gentlemen.  Let Miss Brown go and we can work this out.”

Franklin snorted.  “How dumb do you think I am, Hiddleston?  You say ‘work out,’ but what I hear is ‘work over.’  No. This is how it’s going to happen.  I want you to take all the money from my apartment that you’ve got under guard, yeah?  And… and another grand too.  You leave it where I tell you, and after I’ve got it, I’ll leave the skirt at the city limits on my way out of town.”  Franklin sounded proud of his plan; Tom could imagine his puffed up chest as he waited for his former boss to concede.

“No.”

There was a long, deflated pause.  “ _No?_ ”

Tom stroked his neck, from his ear down into his collar.  _Careful now, we’re getting to it…_   “No.  Not a dead drop.”  His voice rose a bit, his words faster.  “I’m not going to let you just… _abandon_ Kate somewhere in the city, with just the clothes on her back.”  He hesitated a moment.  “No, I’ll send someone for an exchange.” 

“Send someone!  You really think I’m an idiot, don't you, Hiddleston?  You always did- thought you were _so_ much smarter than me.. .  Sure, you’ll send someone, a hundred someones, and then I’m dead.”  Franklin drew in a deep breath.  “Girl’s dead too then, you know that.”

Tom let the silence hang on the line.  “You’d kill her, Mr. Franklin?  Would you really kill an innocent young woman?”  He let hint of strained emotion creep into his voice, but he smirked at Franklin’s enthusiastic reply.  He hummed with just a touch of uncertainty.  “I will do the exchange myself, then.”

“ _Sure_.  And what makes you think I’m dumb enough to fall for that?  You show up, a dozen goons show up too…”

He let his voice waver, just a bit.  “I don’t want Kate hurt.  I won’t risk her safety.”  He refused to acknowledge to himself just how close to the truth that was.  Tom took a long breath.  “I will come alone.  You know that I honor my word.  I will come alone- with your money- and you will hand Kate over to me directly.”

A dozen heartbeats and Tom could almost feel the wheels turning in Franklin’s head.

Then, “Unarmed.  Come unarmed.”

Tom grinned into the phone, tugging on the ear not pressed to the receiver, but he kept his tone low, urgent.  “Wha… oh.  Unarmed, then.  Both of us- let's keep this in the family, yes?  I just want her back.” 

“Alone.  Unarmed.  You swear?”

“I swear on Kate’s life.  I don’t cheat on a deal.”  Tom edged his voice with a sprinkle of affronted pride and then a tiny touch of awed fear, buttering Franklin just enough to make the ruse easier to swallow.  “And I won’t risk her.  I know you will kill her if there's any trouble, you've made that clear.  Alone, unarmed.  Don't hurt her, Jimmy.” 

Franklin sounded full of self-assured pride again.  “I’ll call again with the place.  Better stay by the phone, yeah?” 

The line clicked off abruptly.  Tom hung up as well, rubbing his lips while he picked the receiver back up again, clicking the cradle twice.

“Hello, operator darling?” Tom purred.

****

This time I wasn’t blindfolded when Franklin led me to the car, the air cold on my bare arms.  Not for the first time, I wished he had thought to pick up my jacket when he abducted me.  I stared out the window, watching people and buildings go by.  Nothing looked familiar.  I had never been to this part of the city.  Not that it mattered, I supposed.  I had no idea where I was going, but it would either end with my ransom… or my death.  I didn’t have a lot of hope for the former.

Sunday had been an interminable, awkward day until Franklin had pulled out a deck of cards.  With the only other choice being silently staring at the bare walls, I sat down for endless hands of Gin Rummy with my captor.  Monday morning, after a breakfast of the same cold canned beans and bread that we’d eaten the day before, Franklin generously left me the deck and tied my hands such that I could still play Solitaire while he was gone.  If my fingers shook as I moved the cards around or if some of them got a little damp… well, no one was around to see it. 

When he came back hours later, there was a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.  Smug satisfaction radiated from his posture, his motions, even the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.  It chilled my blood and raised goosebumps on my arms. 

“Going to work this all out at three-thirty.  Going to hand you over to Hiddleston,” Franklin said with a barely concealed grin.

“Tom’s… meeting us?  Tom himself?”  It should have filled me with joy.  Instead, I shuddered and asked in a small voice,  “ _Why_?”

My captor just chuckled, rubbing his hands on his pants, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.  “Guess he really does like you.”

My heart skipped a beat. 

It was a trap.

So I watched the city pass by, my stomach fluttering in anticipation, in fear, in a futile frisson of hope.  I kept swallowing against the flood of saliva in my mouth, trying to breathe slowly.  I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, the flush in my cheeks burning too high. 

We pulled up outside a large mill.  Four stories of solid brick loomed above me as Franklin pulled me from the car, the water tower peeking out above the eaves of the steep-peaked roof.  He avoided the smaller, shorter storefront building, pushing me towards the double doors of the factory.  

It was dim inside, lit by the late afternoon sun coming through the large windows.  Dust and chaff danced in the shafts of light, the air heavy with the smell of wheat and yeast.  I coughed on a deep breath, rubbing my bound hands over my eyes. 

Franklin disappeared from beside me; soon I heard him fumbling along the wall.  A loud _clunk_ and the electric lights hummed to life around us.  I looked up at the metal pipes and conveyor belts crisscrossing the walkways above us, looked around at the tall stacks of flour bags and wooden crates that lined the sides of the ground floor.

So many places to hide for an ambush. 

Did I hear voices?  I tilted my head, listening hard for any odd sounds.  I jumped when Franklin grabbed my arm again, heart pounding, sweat prickling on my skin.  He walked me across the wide open floor, stopping in the center of the mill.

I couldn't stop trembling.  My hands were ice cold and clammy.  My face and neck were burning.  I shifted my weight from foot to foot as I looked left and right, craning my neck, trying to ignore the sense of doom that made my back itch.

Was that movement over there? 

Was that the glint off the barrel of a gun?  

I started and yelped when the door slammed open.  Instantly, my eyes were glued to the dark doorway, my lungs frozen in anticipation.

Franklin squeezed my arm tight, leaning close.  “Not a word, doll.  Not one single word, or this is going to go very badly for you,” he hissed in my ear.

All I could do was nod, staring at the spill of sunlight at the other end of the mill.

And then he was there.  Striding at a confident, deliberate pace, wearing his silver suit like a second skin, carrying a leather suitcase in one hand.  A gray fedora hid his golden curls and cast his eyes in shadow, his straight nose and sharp cheekbones bright by contrast.  He was lethal beauty and fatal grace as he closed the distance between us.

My breath hitched wildly at the sight of him, hope surging in my chest.  _My Tom._   He was here.  I took a strange kind of comfort from the hard line of his mouth, the cold focus in his eyes.  Those eyes glanced over me when he stopped several feet away, no emotion showing in his face.

I imagined how I looked to Tom- my hands tied, my cheeks flushed, shadows under my eyes from lack of sleep, my dress wrinkled and dirty.  I had washed my face before we left the apartment and had combed my fingers through the tangled, frizzy mess of my hair as best I could.  But without a comb and pomade or tonic, it was a lost cause.

Tom studied the man next to me.  “Mr. Franklin.”

“Hiddleston.  You got anything under that hat?  You promised unarmed, yeah?”

Tom reached up slowly, making a show of taking off his hat and tossing it on the floor.  The fingers of his free hand did a graceful dance to open the buttons of his jacket, pulling back his coat lapels to reveal he had no gun.

The suitcase made a heavy thump when Tom dropped it to the floor.  “All the money that was in your apartment.  Plus _two_ extra thou.”  With a strong shove of his foot, he slid the case halfway across the gap between us.  “Now.  Give me the girl.”

I swallowed hard, shifting my weight to take a step towards him.  Maybe I had been wrong.  Maybe nothing would happen, maybe it wasn’t a trap.  Maybe if I could just get to him, touch him, we would both be safe.  We would walk out and everything would be the same as before…

“The deal has changed, Hiddleston.” Franklin’s grip tightened on my arm, tugging me back, shattering my hope.  “You should have known it would, yeah?  You, unarmed and alone?  That was too good a chance to pass up.  See, Hiddleston, Clayton was willing to pay a load if I could deliver you…”

Men emerged from the stacks of flour bags, two on each side, tommy guns held across their chests.  I glanced up at noise from above- another was aiming down off the walkway.  I was frozen, my body leaden and unresponsive.  I wanted to yell, to scream, to run.  But I stood stock still, not even shaking, barely even breathing.

Franklin raised a tarnished pistol, pointing it at Tom’s chest.  He gave a small, apologetic shrug, saying, “It’s just business, yeah?”

_Oh, God…_ I filled my mind with the last sight of Tom, standing straight and tall, his eyes burning, his jaw clenched.  His hair sparked gold and copper in the light, one loose curl hovering above his eye.  He was staring at Franklin, not at the gun, not at the other men.  He hadn't said a word.  My eyes began to water, a horrible weight crushing my chest.

The cock of the hammer was the loudest sound I had ever heard.  I shut my eyes then, unwilling to watch the elegant magnificence that was Tom shattered by bullets and blood- not that I would have long to think about it before my own blood joined his, I knew.  I whimpered into the silence, begging for it to just end already, for it all to just be over.

Even with my eyes closed, I could feel the change in the room.  The tension slid over me differently, raising the hairs on my arms.  It took a moment for me to realize that I was still alive.  That the loud pounding was the feel of my heart against my ribs, not gunfire; that the burning was my lungs desperate for air, not a bullet hole.  I took a cautious, much needed breath and cracked my eyes open.

The scene was the same.  Tom still stood ramrod straight, legs spread slightly, empty hands at his sides.  Franklin still held his pistol pointed at his former boss.  The look on his face, though, had turned from triumph to ashen terror.

That's when I noticed the muzzle held against the back of his neck.

“That’s the thing about business, Jimmy,” said Tom, strolling forward as casual as could be.  He took the gun from Franklin’s unresisting fingers, turning it over and examining it.  “There’s always someone willing to pay more.”

The shocked man spluttered abruptly to life, words tumbling from his mouth.  “You- you bought off Clayton’s men?  He’ll make your life hell before he kills you.  He’ll treat your whore a lot worse than I did before the end, you know he will- is this worth it?  How- how did you even _know_?”

Tom absently sighted down the pistol at Franklin’s head.  “I told the cord girls to place any call from the number you used to my office.  Only took a little bribe and a little polite asking.”  His voice, which had been pleasantly conversational, changed- even his posture shifted in a subtle way.  “You didn't talk to Clayton.  These aren’t his men,” he said in a near-perfect imitation of Robert Clayton.  “They’re not mine, either, I assume you’ve figured that out.” 

“Th-then who the hell _are_ they?”  Franklin was sweating now, his chest heaving with each breath as he looked from the gun to Tom and back again.

“Chief Hollister’s.”  Tom gave him a thin smile, taking my arm from the other man as gently as he had the gun. 

His fingers were soothingly warm when they slid over my icy ones, his touch reassuring and tender even as he continued to stare coldly at Franklin.  I didn’t think Tom had even spared me a glance since that first look over.

“You sold me out to the _bulls_?”  There was a panicked, high-pitched desperation in Franklin’s voice, his eyes wide and wild.  “You’re _insane_!  I’ll tell them _everything_ \- I’ll rat out _everyone_ \- you’ll be taking the hot squat in a week!”  His voice rose to nearly a screech.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.”  Tom’s smile became a full malicious grin, his confidence unshaken.  “Detective O’Shea here and I have an understanding.”  He nodded to a short, brown-haired man dressed in shirtsleeves and suspenders behind Franklin.  “I give him the occasional troublesome gangster to pinch, and he gets a fat bonus from his boss for bringing in one of those nasty bootleggers.  And if those bootleggers always seem to die resisting arrest?  Nobody asks many questions about that.”

Franklin was shaking in the face of Tom’s calm prediction.  He drew in a deep breath, but stopped when Tom poked his chest with the pistol.

“It was a pleasure working with you, Mr. Franklin,” Tom intoned, deadly quiet, the finality in his tone chilling the air.  “Give my regards to the Devil, hm?”  He uncocked the gun and tossed it to the side.  “Detective, he's all yours,” he said as he pulled me to him, tucking me under his arm. 

Detective O’Shea gave me a surprisingly warm smile from over Franklin's shoulder.  I had just enough time to think that he had the most amazing coffee-colored eyes before Tom was turning us away.

I stumbled against him, my body torn between collapsing in relief and running full-tilt for the door.  My shoulder blades itched, still expecting a bullet between them at any moment.  I was exposed… and there were so many guns behind me… even if they were in Tom’s pocket.  I couldn’t stop my small, scared whimper.

“Steady, Kate, nearly there,” Tom murmured, holding me a bit tighter.

I don't remember much of the walk to the exit.  All I knew was the burning heat of Tom’s arm around my bare shoulder, the sheer physicality of his presence next to me- reassuringly solid while I felt like I was floating, unanchored and unreal.

The door closed behind us, the _thud_ of it sounding with a satisfying finality.  I blinked a few times, the world shifting sideways beneath me.  Everything looked the same, except that now Tom's Packard was parked a few yards away.  The sun had barely moved since I had been pulled out of Franklin’s car- it had felt like hours, waiting inside.  How could everything be the same?  _I_ wasn't the same.  It was paradoxically terrifying that the world remained unchanged while I was reeling like this.

Tom unwound the rope from my wrists, chafing my chilled hands between his.  I found myself staring at them… his palms so large, and his fingers so long and slender and strong.  There was the cut and the bruised knuckle, the injuries I had tended in the office, on the night that this all started…

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so s-sorry,” I babbled, my eyes filling with tears.

“Shh, shh... breathe, Kate, take a deep breath.”  Tom shifted his grip, holding my arms firmly.  His voice was low and serious.  “Did Franklin hurt you?  Do you need a doctor?”

I shook my head, sniffling, but I couldn’t make myself say anything but, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

And then the muted crack of gunfire sounded through the door.  I cowered, shaking and hiccuping, glancing wildly in all directions with wide, panicked eyes.  I could feel the gun pointed at my back, my breath catching in anticipation of a bullet, even though no one was there.

Tom spun me and pushed me up against the wall of the mill.  The brick was cold against my back, the rough surface solid and real.  Tom held my arms, leaning close to me, pressing me back, hemming me in.  I was surrounded, protected by his body in front of me and the impenetrable brick behind.

“Look at me,” Tom demanded.

My eyes were sluggish to respond to my command, rising slowly from his powder blue pocket square to stare blankly at his face.  Everything was too bright, too harsh.  I wanted to look away but I was frozen in his fierce stare.

His hands cradled my tear-streaked cheeks, his thumbs smoothing over my forehead.  “There's a good girl,” he murmured, his expression softening as he examined me, tilting my head to the side and then back again.  He studied my eyes, concern slowly replaced with relief.

My eyes slid shut, soaking in his warmth, the feel of his hands, the strong body pinning me against the brick, grounding me in the moment.  My thundering heart slowed, my legs steadied their quaking, my shoulders stopped twitching.  _Safe._ I sighed, slumping back against the wall, boneless.

His nose touched mine, nuzzling the side in a lingering, slow descent.  I felt his breath on my lips for an instant before his mouth covered mine.  The kiss was soft and urgent, his hands sliding into the tangled mess of my hair as he drew me to him.  He didn’t press, didn’t push for more, just his soft lips over mine, his thumbs stroking my cheeks.  My hands fluttered up to tangle in the lapels of his jacket, sliding towards his heart.  It beat fast and hard under my touch.  But just as I began to open to him, melt against him, he pulled away.

I shivered when he stepped back, the heat of him wicked away into the chill air with disturbing speed.  Goosebumps flocked over my bare arms in a rush.  With a frown, Tom swept off his jacket, wrapping me in the warm spice-scented linen.  I inhaled deeply, pulling the jacket closer to my body, snuggling into the soft cloth like a kitten. 

“I'm sorry,” I mumbled again.

“Shhh, starling, you're in a bit of shock.  Let's get you somewhere warm.  Can you walk?”

I swayed on my feet, dreamily detached from everything that had happened in the last few days.  When Tom repeated the question, a hard edge in his voice, I bobbed my head.  I stammered something about being tired, I wasn’t sure exactly- all of a sudden it was very hard to keep my eyes open or think straight.

“Into the car, come on then...”

Safely and cozily ensconced in the Packard, I leaned against Tom’s shoulder, not even caring where he took me as long as he stayed so _warm_ , dozing to the rumble of the engine.


	10. Please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took forever, but here it is, the penultimate chapter. The next one ties up a few loose ends and I hope to Loki that I get it done faster than this one! I had a good time looking up pictures of 20′s bathrooms for this. Thank you all for reading and sticking with this story and with me!
> 
> 20’s slang: brown plaid- Scotch whiskey; doll- a woman; rotgut- cheap alcohol

I drifted in and out during the drive, not quite asleep and not quite awake, with Tom’s arm wrapped snugly around me.  He was so _warm_ , so solid- after days of driving myself crazy imagining him, doubting him, it was bliss just to touch him. 

_He came for me._

I basked in his heat and the spicy, masculine scent of him.  Each time a stop or gear change would jerk me from my doze, Tom's grip on me would tighten or his hand would rise to stroke my hair until I relaxed again. 

_He came for me..._

It could have been one hour or three, I couldn't tell in my sleepy haze, before I was woken up by Tom sliding me out of his car.  My arms were heavy and stiff as I wrapped them around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder and closing my eyes again.  I couldn't seem to keep them open or stop touching him.

Tom carried me through the door, kicking it shut behind us.  “William… William, man, where are you?  Ah!  Bring up a tray to my room.  Tea, the good brandy, toast…”  Tom adjusted his grip on me, his cheek pressed briefly to the top of my head.  “Mm, and any of that cake from last night you have left.  Bring it up as soon as you can, will you?”

There was more back-and-forth called over Tom's shoulder as he mounted the stairs.  I snuggled myself into the warm skin of his neck, letting the sound of their voices wash over me, William's full of professional concern and Tom's a kind of calm urgency.

Tom hurried through his bedroom, heading for the door on the far side.  I had fallen in love with Tom's bathroom the last time I had been here.  For one thing, it was huge.  I loved the jade and cream tile that patterned the floor, how it crept up the walls with emerald accents, all the way to the ceiling.  I loved the padded bench that sat by the sink, the linen closet with its carved wooden door, even the recessed nook for the toilet. 

But under the long window on the far wall was my favorite part. 

The enormous slipper tub dominated the room, with its elegant raised back and rolled rim, sitting solidly on four bronze clawed feet.  In front of it lay a plush Oriental carpet in green and gold, begging for bare feet to enjoy its softness.

It was on that carpet that Tom put me down, making sure I was steady on my feet before holding me at arms-length.  He studied me, taking in my wrinkled dress, the bruises on my shins, the tangled mess of my hair.  I  rubbed my thumb against my fingers and shifted my weight from foot to foot under the scrutiny.  His eyes flitted over my face, not pausing to meet my gaze.

“Are you certain you don't need a doctor, Kate?”

“No, I’m fine… really.”

He picked up my hands, raising them for him to inspect.  The skin was rubbed raw in a few places, but the red rings around my wrists looked worse than they felt.  His thumbs hovered over the abraded skin.

“Was there any- Did he, ah, force…”  He winced a bit and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.  “What…”

I giggled. 

I couldn't help it; it bubbled up from my chest, a giddy, unhinged response to the thick tension surrounding me.  A grin twisted my mouth, breaking through the shocked daze I had been in since leaving the mill.  Here was a man who had stared straight down the barrel of a gun without flinching- and he was stumbling to find a polite way to ask if Franklin had taken advantage of me. 

“No,” I said.  “He didn't.”  The reason why he hadn't- “ _I'm not interested in one of Hiddleston's degraded whores”_ \- rose in the back of my mind, but I shoved it away.  _Tom came for me._  I squeezed his fingers, smiling shyly up at him. 

He glanced at my face again, then back down to my wrists with a curt nod.  “Ah.  Good, then.”

We stood like that for a minute and even though he was still touching me, it felt like he was standing across a canyon.  My thoughts floundered, confusion and anxiety running rampant.  Where was the consuming fire of his body against mine?  Where was the cool control, the expectation of obedience that he had radiated just a few hours ago? 

Tom’s grip trailed down my hands until he held just my fingertips.  He leaned close and I shut my eyes, my heart fluttering in anticipation of a kiss that never came.  Instead, he reached around me to twist the enameled taps on the tub. 

The sound of rushing water echoed off the walls, filling the heavy silence.  I gnawed on my lower lip, watching the stiff set of his shoulders as he adjusted the temperature.  There was an uncharacteristic hesitancy in his motions, in the wrinkle of his brow, in the line of his mouth.

Tom straightened and turned his attention to me with a polite tilt of his head.  “It will fill quickly… There's soap and the towels are there, Kate-”  He pointed around the room, not looking at me while he talked.

He kept using my given name; he had hardly used anything else since he'd pulled me away from Franklin.  There was a tiny stutter each time he did, as if he started to say something else.  I remembered the kiss outside the mill, the hunger in his eyes contrasting with his abrupt retreat… the way his touch hovered unless he thought I wasn't aware…

_Oh_. _Oh, Tom._

Everything jumbled up in my mind, thoughts piling on top of each other until I couldn't find a way to start.  I wanted to tell him how upset I had been, how I had wished for him and hated him at the same time.  I wanted to tell him how none of that mattered after the sight of him approaching like an avenging angel, after the weight of his body kept me pinned to reality.  I wanted to tell him that I _wanted_ him.

I took a breath as he moved for the door, casting into the tangle of thoughts for something, anything, to say.  “Please,” I said.  “Please stay…”  I stretched my hand out.

His smile was a paradoxical mix of worry and relief, taking a step back towards me.  “Are you certain?”

The heavy clang was just the pipes, but all at once I felt horribly, terrifyingly exposed.  My back started to itch, the space between my shoulder blades almost aching and the hairs on my arms standing up straight.

With a start, I dove into his chest, burying my face in his shirt.  Spice and musk surrounded me, reminding me I was safe even if I was positive I wasn't.  I opened my mouth to try to explain the sudden fear, the trembling and cowering.

All that I came out was, “I'm sorry.”

“No,” he said, enfolding me in his arms, one hand cradling my head, the other stroking low on my back.  “None of that.  You've nothing, _nothing_ , to be sorry for.  I thought you would be safe in anonymity…” he murmured, rocking me gently.  “My mistake nearly cost me more than-”  He broke off at a knock on the door.  “That will be William with the tea.  I'll just bring the tray in here and…  Will you let me take care of you?”

I gazed up at him, losing myself in the stormy, honest blue of his eyes.  There was vulnerability and comfort in them, concern and security.  I nodded.  “Yes.  Please, sir.”

Tom returned a moment later, dragging the padded bench next to the tub to hold the food-laden tray.  It didn’t take long for him to remove my rumpled clothes, tossing them into the hamper in the corner along with his own hastily stripped outfit.

He helped me into the tub with a hand under my elbow before slipping in behind me, the blazing heat of his chest burning away the feeling of a target on my back.  I leaned my head on his shoulder, hissing a sharp breath when I submerged my raw wrists in the steaming water.  I felt him wince at the sound and his large hands slid down my arms in sympathy. 

We soaked like that for a handful of soothing minutes, still and quiet.  The warmth of the bath seeped into my muscles, loosening the tension that had kept me on edge for the last few days.  

The tea that Tom poured me- topped off with a generous slug of brandy- helped immensely as well.  I cradled the cup just above the water, turning down the toast in favor of the luscious chocolate cake.  I could almost feel Tom's questions straining behind his brow, but when I brought up my  abduction, he shushed me with a soft, “Time for that tomorrow, just relax now,” and changed the subject to music and movies.

When he was satisfied that I had eaten enough and I turned down another cup of tea, Tom snagged the bar of soap from the side of the tub.  The air filled with the clean, fresh scent as he worked the bar into a rich lather.

He scrubbed slowly, cleaning every inch of me with tender attention.  I didn’t even try to help, floating through his ministrations, eyes drifting closed, wrapped in a warm cocoon of water and bubbles and Tom.  He rubbed shampoo into my hair, combing out the tangles with his long fingers.  I hummed low in my throat, my head falling forward as he massaged my scalp and neck in firm, skillful circles.

Tom rinsed the last of the soap from my shoulders and his arms wrapped around me once more.  His hand came to rest on the top of my thigh under the water, a gesture that wasn't meant to be sexual but that lit a fiery storm beneath my skin anyway.  I pulled on his wrist, dragging his hand between my legs. 

“Tom-”  My voice froze in my throat, the _need_ for that special, intimate contact blazing through me, and I rolled my hips in invitation.

“Kate.”  He spoke with soft, carefully chosen words, even as I felt his breath stutter.  “This is not why I joined you in the bath.”

“ _Please-_ ” I managed, undulating my body against his chest. _I need to know I'm alive.  That_ you're _alive.  I need to feel, I need that connection, I need it to be like it was before-_ can _it be like it was before?… please, I need you to touch me…_

If he could hear the silent, increasingly desperate pleas rampaging in my head in the twisting of my body, I don't know.  But his fingers moved, parting my lips, stroking with a measured pace- giving me plenty of time to change my mind.  Instead, I let my legs fall farther open, gripping his wrist tighter, pressing against his hand in wanton display.  He slid one slim digit inside me; the surprised and husky groan in my ear when he found me as wet as the bath water sent a shuddering, clenching jolt through me.

“So warm,” he rasped in my ear.  “So slippery wet…”  He withdrew, adding a second finger to his slow penetration.  “This is what you want?”

“Yes!” I said breathlessly, my vision fuzzing at the edges as he pressed against the sensitive spot inside me.  “ _Please_ …”

His free hand traced aimless patterns on my stomach, up to my ribs, down below my belly button.  Delicious tickling sensations over my heated skin, leaving behind a random tingling trail that yearned for a stronger touch, building exquisite tension.  And all the while his long fingers inside me stroked and stretched, deeper and firmer.

I arched into his touch, water dripping from my arms as I reached behind me to grasp his neck, digging my own fingers into the fine hair at the base of his skull.  I could feel him growing harder behind me with each rock of my hips, each airy cry that escaped me.  I ground back against him, delighting in his sharp, hungry inhale.

“Your nipples are so hard, so flushed, Kate...”  The strain in his voice was clear, followed by the sound of him licking his lips near my ear.

I moaned shamelessly when he rolled a rosy bud in his fingers, at the same time as he danced his thumb over my clit.  I bucked into his touch, the water splashing and sloshing.  The waves I created lapped at my breasts, rolling up to my neck as I twisted and rutted against his palm.

“Are you going to come all over my fingers, Kate?”

My response was little more than an urgent, begging sob, my body bowed taut and my breath shaky and fast.  I tugged on his hair, nearly frantic in my need.  _Please please please,_ echoed over and over in my head, a mindless mantra hoping that this would burn away the awkwardness, the detachment, the feeling of dreamy unreality that had followed me since my rescue.  _Please please please…_

“Are you going to come hard, like this?”  Heavy with his own need, his voice rumbled in my brain, vibrating against my spine.  “That's it, that's it… What a lovely sight you are…”

His fingers drove insistently inside me, curled just right, but it wasn’t until he pressed down on my clit that my heartbeat stuttered and my eyes screwed shut, all thought leaving my brain in a brilliant, shuddering electric surge. 

His nose traced the line of my shoulder, light as a feather, when I slumped back against him.  “That's my girl,” he breathed before his mouth began working over my skin, soft kisses and quick flickers of his tongue that made me shiver deliciously.

After my breathing had steadied, Tom leaned around me to pull the stopper and as he did, the hard rod of his cock brushed my hip.  _Oh God, yes, fuck me,_ rushed through my brain along with a gnawing empty ache at my core.  I reached back, curling my fingers around him, thick and smooth, anticipating how full, how good he could make me feel.

He hissed under his breath, jerking away and spilling water on the floor.  I snatched my hand back, my blush burning all the way down my neck, teeth digging into my lip. 

Tom cupped my cheek, tilting my head just a little so that he could look at me over my shoulder.  “Not here,” he whispered into my mouth, kissing me until my toes curled and I was squirming in his arms with impatience.

Once out of the tub and wrapped in a fluffy towel, Tom carried me to his bedroom.  I traced the droplets on his skin with my fingers and tongue, smiling at the goosebumps that followed my touch and the hammering of his pulse.

He laid me on the bed and, seized by bold impulse, I opened the towel, spreading my arms wide and arching off the bed.  One foot dragged up my other calf, my lip caught between my teeth again in contrived good-girl innocence as I stretched to swipe a thumb over his leaking tip.

Laughing under his breath, Tom crawled into bed with me, kneading a breast while he kissed me.  “Eager little thing...”

He turned me onto my side with strong hands, spooning behind me- and it _was_ nice, the feeling of his still-damp chest against my back, the solid mass of him curled around me, but my wrists longed for his grip, my body wanted his weight crushing down on me, his hungry but calm eyes watching every twitch.

I tried to roll over, reaching to pull him on top of me.  He stopped me, pressing himself closer, all muscle and heat and safety along my spine.  I shimmied, grinding my ass into him, whining in anxious frustration.  I wanted fire, not heat.  Passion, not safety.  _Order me, call me your slut, demand, bite… please…_

His arm slipped under my head, his other hand stroking my thigh.  His touch was soft, light, down and then up and down again.  “Tell me what you want, Kate.”

I whimpered, my hand moving up to tug at his curls, the words locked in my throat.  “You, Tom…”  _Please please please… hurt me, break me so all I think about is you, so I don't have to remember…_  My fingers curled into claws in his hair.  _Angry and lost and afraid, so afraid…_

He pulled my knee back over his hip, caressing the sensitive skin in the crease.   Another heartbeat and he was inside me, pushing with such gentle pressure that I gnashed my teeth.  I opened my mouth to beg him for faster, harder, for his bites and bruises, but as I drew breath he shushed me, the hand under me moving to press his fingers against my lips. 

His other hand cupped my breast, teasing over the nipple until it stiffened to a hard point.  _Please please please… make me stop thinking…_ The sound I made was nearly a growl, my own hand diving between my legs, rubbing urgently, desperately, my body shaking with suppressed but still remembered fear. 

Tom’s hand left my breast to wrap around my wrist.  “Shh, Kate.  Trust me.  That's a good girl...”

He rocked against me, slow and steady.  And as he did, as his fingers slipped into my mouth, as his breathing sounded rhythmically in my ear, I became aware of more than my desperate desire for an orgasm.  The heat of his chest against my spine.  The clean, salty taste of his skin on my tongue.  The strong arms wrapped around me, cradling me.  He pressed our hands to my heart; I felt it settle into the rhythm he set with his thrusts.

“My beautiful starling,” he murmured into my hair.  “So soft.  So rare.”  He braided our fingers together and guided us back between my legs.  “Slowly now, I've got you…  Spread yourself for me.  Help me find that sweet little clit.” 

I whined when he touched it, the gentle caress too much and not enough at the same time.  I sucked on his fingers in my mouth, his strained groan vibrating through my whole body.  His tongue traced over the fading marks he'd left days ago, his breath dancing over my skin.

I had wanted fast and rough, with fierce burn and bite, the shattering fall at the end to erase the last few days.  What he gave me, with the gentle waves building on each other, surging higher and higher, receding and cresting again together, suffused my body with a pleasurable, unexpected peace.

And always his smooth voice, low in my ear, praising, coaxing, soothing.  “You feel exquisite… So hot, so slick… Play with your nipples for me, that's it… such a good girl… _Christ_...”

There was no plunge, no shatter.  I tipped into a slow free fall, floating lax on the waves he created, losing myself in the gradual rise and fall and rise again.  I hummed with a relaxed smile.  Sated.  Comforted.  Safe. 

I don't know how long it was before his hand slid up to press on my lower belly, the other pulling away from my mouth to palm my breast.  A few faster thrusts, squeezing me tightly and Tom buried his face in my neck, a beautiful pained “ _Oh!_ ” escaping through his clenched teeth.

We didn't move, breathing in time with each other.  Tom held me against his chest, my back soaked with his warmth, his strength.  His legs wove through mine, his long arms wrapped around me, heavy, comforting.  For the first time in two nights, I fell asleep without fear or worry.

*****

I clawed my way back to consciousness, the remnants of the amorphous nightmare clinging to me like slime.  The deep breath I took seemed to do nothing to fill my lungs, the darkness suffocating and restrictive.  I extricated myself from under Tom’s overly-warm embrace and the confining tangle of his legs to scoot to the other side of the bed.

Sighing at the cool satin of the sheets against my flushed skin, I buried my arms under the unused pillow.  _He came for me.  Everything's fine now,_ I soothed myself.  No need to think about the things my imagination had dragged up.  I inhaled, taking comfort in the scent of his cologne in the linens.  _Everything's fine._

He had been so sweet and caring all evening; his hesitation about pushing me too far had been endearing.  He wanted me here, he wanted me safe, he wanted me happy. 

That was obvious from our bath.  The way his breath had sounded in my ear, restrained but hungry.  How he toyed with my nipple, tugging just right…

I squirmed, reliving the delicious flip in my stomach when he sank his fingers deep inside me.  

I remembered the sinking, hollow feeling in my stomach when he had said, _“Miss Brown, when a woman named Marguerite arrives, tell her I’ll be out shortly.”_

_Everything's_ fine _._

_Oh, balls._

Groaning, I pressed my face into the pillow, screwing my eyes shut against the image of Franklin leering at me.  Of him taking vicious pleasure in telling me his truth about Tom.

_Tom apologized.  He took care of me…_

_But the other women…_

Despite my attempts to go back to sleep, my mind tripped and spun over and over.  My life.  My kidnapping.  My relationship with Tom.  _You have to talk to him,_ a reasonable voice sounded in my head, again and again.  And I thought about all the things I had wanted to but never said, not just to him but to everyone else I'd swallowed a retort for...

I wasn’t sure I fell asleep.  It seemed like I could not stop stewing, analyzing, playing dead-end conversations in my head.  But I must have slipped from waking worry to a dozing obsession- my subconscious continuing to spin in increasingly absurd circles.  After what felt like forever trapped in my own swamp of doubts, I felt Tom's hand on my arm.

_Left them broken…_

“Mm?  What’s broken?”  His voice was thick with sleep and confusion, his grip slack and loose.

In rush of panic, I came fully awake.  _I said that out loud._   “Oh.  Nothing, it's nothing.  Bad dream.”

Tom pulled me close to him, tucking my head under his chin.  His heart beat slow and strong beneath my ear while he brushed his knuckles down my bare arm lazily, but I remained stiff and tense.

Even half-asleep, even in the dim predawn light that glowed around the edges of the curtains, he could read me too well.  He shifted back to look down at me.  “Kate?”

_Just shrug it off.  Pretend to relax and let him go back to sleep._

“I’m a coward,” I blurted, surprising us both.

“What?”  Tom propped himself up on his elbow.  “That’s not true.”

I huffed, pushing myself away from him and nodding.  He had to see it too, it was so obvious.  He _had_ to agree with me- if he didn't, then he didn't know me at all.  “I am.  I am!  I didn't _do_ anything!  I just stayed there, with Franklin… _He_ knew!”  I choked on the surge of embarrassment.  “He said I was such a coward that he could leave me untied and I wouldn't even try to escape, that I was… was…”

“But, Kate, that was _smart_.”  Tom reached out for me but I shrank away from his touch.  “Trying to run could have gotten you hurt.  Killed.  And why would you run- you knew I was coming for you.  All you had to do was wait.”

I bit back my reply so hard, my teeth clicked audibly.  _Don't.  Don't bring that up, don't mention her._ I struggled to find a way to deflect or redirect, the quiet between us growing.  Tom didn't let the awkward silence last long.

“You _knew_ I was coming for you.”  He sat up, peering at me in the low light.

I looked down at the comforter bunched at my hips, twisting the fabric around my finger.  _Too late to turn back now._  “Well… no.  I didn’t, not for sure.  You took _her_ out, Tom, you took out another woman!  What was I supposed to think, that you-”  I stopped, swallowing against the sudden acidic burn of tears in my throat. 

“That I what?” 

I shuddered at the flat, cold tone of his voice, wrapping my arms around myself- a pitiful shield against his disappointment.  I hovered around an answer, opening my mouth only to close it again and again.

My words were thick and halting when they finally came.  “I wasn’t sure that you… that you cared enough to…  I mean, if you had another woman all lined up like that, then wh-why would I be worth the t-trouble?” 

Without a word, Tom flipped the covers back and stood up.  I did my best to disappear into the pillows behind me, shivering, holding my breath.  This was it, this confession was one nuisance too far…

The bedside lamp clicked on and I blinked at the sudden brightness.  When my vision cleared, Tom was standing over me.  He held out his green dressing gown, the expression on his face serious but not angry.  I wrapped the silk around me with shaking hands, sliding my arms into the deep, slippery sleeves. 

Tom pulled a chair closer to the bed, sitting down with no thought to his own nudity.  His legs splayed wide as he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his thighs.

“Did I not make it clear, the last time you were in this bed?”

I cringed, tugging the lapels of the robe tighter and staring at the dusting of hair on his chest.  I knew this voice- stern, dissatisfied, expectant.  The last time I had heard it was the morning after I had left the door to the office ajar heading home from a late night.

“Y-yes… no… I mean, kind of…”  I took a shaky breath, touching the fading purple mark on my shoulder.  “I thought… I thought I knew, but then you took out another woman-”

“To keep you safe.” The edge in his voice sharp enough to cut.  “I told you that-”

“You said I was your dirty secret!”  All the worry and heartache I had felt the last few days was coming to a boil, pouring out of my mouth in a stumbling rush.  “You went out with her and how did I know you didn't f-fuck her in the office after, because I was just your _dirty secret_ so who cares what I thought about it, I imagined you screwing her right where we… and then Franklin said-”

“What the hell does Franklin have to do with Marguerite?”

I winced at her name.  “He told me about the other women… “

“Of course there have been other women.  _You_ know that, you've seen most of them!  Why all of a sudden do you care who I've been with?”  Tom rubbed his fingers across his forehead before pinching the bridge of his nose.  “You never struck me as the jealous type, Kate.”

“I'm not jealous!  This isn't about jealousy. He- he said you _broke_ them.  The other women.  That that's what you did, seduce and degrade them and then leave them broken- and I don't _care_ how many skirts you've fucked, I just want to know what that means!”

“And why, exactly, would you believe _him_? He was a traitor- not to mention he'd necked with half the virgin college girls in New York and left them high and dry after!”  His palm slapped down on his bare thigh as he leaned back.  “My going to a business dinner without you is enough to make you think I'm a heartless bastard?  Someone who would take a woman for a ride if things didn't work out?”  His lip curled up in a sneer.  “Thank you for the trust, darling.”

“Well, _he_ was there and _you_ were fucking that skirt!” I snapped.  My hands flew to my mouth as soon as I realized what I had said, the blood draining from my face.  A few uneven breaths later, when there was only stony silence from Tom, I stumbled on, quieter.  “I mean…  I wanted to think that it was special, what was between us, because it felt so good and I thought…”  I swallowed as I stared at my lap, drained and hollow after my outburst.  “I wanted to.  But after what had happened and what he told me, all on top of what your mother said…  I couldn't quite make myself believe it.”

“Wait.  _Wait_.  My mother?”  He bent forward to hover over me, frowning.   “When did she say anything like this to you?”

With my heart pounding, I stuttered out, “The other night.  Tea.  The tea after dinner.”  It took a few more leading questions from Tom, but soon the story was spilling out of me, shameful tears scalding my cheeks.  The way she had made me feel unwelcome and worthless.  What she had said about flappers, about working women.  How he was special and couldn't be held back by a less-than-first-class companion. 

“I don't think you're being fair, Kate.  I was at that dinner.  You were nervous, you read too much into what she was saying.  She didn't mean-”

“She accused me of being an- an _indiscretion_ who got knocked up.  She wanted to know if I was blackmailing you!  Not much room for misinterpretation there.”  I pulled my knees up to my chest, hiding my face behind them when I couldn't hold back the sobs.

“Oh, starling.”  His fingers touched my ankle, then brushed up and down my calf.  “That was a terrible thing for her to ask.  Why didn't you say something to me?”

A bitter, barked laugh cut through my tears.  “You didn't spare one shred of attention for me while she was in the room.  Of course _you_ thought everything was dandy!  You barely even _looked_ at me until you wanted to fuck!”  I was nearly yelling by this point, the pain cutting through my heart just as sharply as it had that night.  “She thinks I’m your whore and you treated me like that's exactly what I am!”

His hand dropped away from my leg.  I heard the creak of the chair and I could imagine how he looked now- sitting back, arms crossed, his face a cold, impassive wall.

“What do you want?  A stirring declaration of love?  A marriage proposal?”

I choked on the derision and annoyance in his voice, even as I bristled at his insinuation of over-sentimentality.  “No, of course not- not-”

“Exactly what would make you feel less persecuted as my girlfriend then?” he snapped.

It took a moment for it to filter through my sniffles.  When I could control my voice again, I lifted my head and looked at him with red, hopeful eyes.  “Is that what I am?”

“Christ, Kate,” Tom snorted.  “Do you think that I give pet names to every person I meet?  And you _know_ that I don't bring women here, you better than anyone.”  He exhaled a deep sigh, scrubbing his hands through his hair.  His face and shoulders relaxed as he looked at me.  “And you know that I don't give in to ransoms.  If it had been anyone else that Franklin had kidnapped…  But you...”  He held out his hand to me.  “Is that enough for you?”

I took it, interlacing our fingers.  He used his grip to pull me out of bed and into his lap, his long arms forming a protective circle.  As his warmth seeped into me, I was helpless to stop one more small bout of hiccupping tears, tension flowing out of my body.  His hand rubbed the back of my neck in a soothing massage, his voice hushing me softly.

“Tom?” I whispered, leaning my head on his shoulder.  “I’m so sorry.  I really didn't want to be a bother…”

Tom pressed his nose into my hair, exhaling a soft chuckle that raised all the hairs on my arms. “In all the time I've known you, Miss Brown, you have yet to be a bother.”

In my near-drunken relief, I couldn't help giggling, “Even that time I dropped that bottle of rotgut plaid and the whole place smelled like alcohol?  You couldn't meet anyone law-abiding in the office for a week!”

He gruffed low in his throat.  “That was a bit of an annoyance.”

“Or when I mailed the wrong letter to the Front Street factory foreman?  You were livid.”  I stroked my hand down his neck.  “I thought you were going to fire me for sure.”

He caught my wrist, bringing it to his mouth.  A gentle kiss to the inside, a small nip a little farther up.  “Fire my efficient, clever, lovely secretary?” he murmured as he traveled up my arm.  “Never.”

The weightless flutters in my stomach did nothing to stop the sudden heavy squeeze in my chest.  “What happens when- if this doesn't work?  I mean, what happened with your other-”

“Oh yes, the mysterious ‘other women’ I’ve destroyed with my depravity.  You mentioned them earlier.”  He drew in a long breath, blowing over my skin until I broke out in goosebumps.  “I'm sorry that Do you really believe that?”

“But…” 

His grip on my wrist shifted, tightened.  “Do you like it when I hold you like this?” he asked in a deep rumble.  “Does seeing my marks on you make you feel broken or used?”  He moved both my arms behind my back, securing them with one large hand.  “Do you feel humiliated when I whisper dirty things in your ear?  Or does it make your sweet little cunt just _ache_ for me to fill it?”  His other hand slipped under the silk robe to rest on my thigh, his palm scorching on my chilled skin. 

“Oh God…” I whimpered.

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, his mouth so close to my ear, that I could feel his lips brushing over the cartilage.  “That's what I thought.  And do you like it when I call you a good girl?  _My_ good girl… my lovely quiff…”

I was melted against his chest by now, his hand creeping up my leg, thumb moving in tiny circles on my inner thigh.

“You love this,” he purred.  “Do you feel degraded or unimportant or ashamed, starling?”

I could only moan, his fingers finally finding their target, stroking slowly up and down.

“You're so warm here.  Such a soft, sweet treasure…”  The hand holding my arms slid up my spine to wind in my hair, turning my head so he could capture my mouth in a languid and possessive kiss. 

He rubbed the nape of my neck, pressing his forehead to mine and staring into my eyes.  “We've known each other for a long time.  But this- this is new.  I can't assume to know what you are thinking or feeling.  I am sorry I didn’t make my intentions clearer.”  The corner of his mouth quirked up.  “Intimate conversations are not my forte, but from here on, you’ll tell me what's going on in your head.  This between us will not work if you don't.  Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, the sound catching in my throat, mesmerized by the honesty and care in the blue oceans of his eyes.

“Good.”  His other hand- forgotten between my legs- moved, circling my clit with two fingers.  “It's still very early, hm?  We could catch a few more hours of sleep.  But you're so chilled, so tense… and _so_ wet for me.  I think I'm going to take you back to bed and make you come so hard, so good- you'll be asleep before I even tuck you in.”

And he did, but not before he had teased me to a frenzy on his lap.  He'd rub my clit with firm, delicious pressure while cooing in endearments in my ear- only to nip at my neck as he pulled his hand back, gently shushing my frustrated whine.  When my own hands had gotten in his way one too many times, he pinned them at the base of my spine again, his grip as immutable as iron.

When he finally brought me back to bed, leaning over to click off the lamp before kneeling between my thighs, his broad palms spanning my hips and drawing me into his thrusts… it took less than a minute for the fuse he'd been tending to hit powder, bowing me off the bed in an exquisite taut arch. 

He gasped my name, driving into me with increasing desperation, his strangled groan the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.  I smiled into his mouth as he kissed me in satisfaction, rolling us onto our sides.

I was asleep before he pulled the blankets over us.


	11. Take a Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, this is the last chapter. I have more notes about that at the end here. Thank you for reading, thank you for commenting, and thank you for sticking with me, Tom, and Kate over the last 2 years. 
> 
> 20’s slang: brown plaid- Scotch whiskey; doll- a woman; quiff- a slut or cheap prostitute; piffle: baloney, bs; get a wiggle on: get going; The Great Impersonation: popular identity theft murder mystery novel from 1920

I stretched, arching cat-like in Tom’s bed, pushing my limbs out until they began to shake and my spine crackled.  I collapsed back into the sheets, breathing out a deep sigh.  I was still wrapped in Tom’s dressing gown, the worn silk luxuriously soft and slippery on my bare skin, my body still glowing from his attentions, and my mind quiet and content.

Tom wasn’t in the room.  There wasn’t a breakfast tray or note, so after flipping idly through the book of poetry on his bedside table, I resorted to staring at the door.  _Huh._ _Where is he?_   Another ten minutes passed of me poking around his shelves and he still hadn’t come back.

My stomach gave a demanding growl.  _Well, that seals it._   I looked in the bathroom for the clothes I'd worn yesterday, but whether he'd given them to William to launder or just thrown them away, I couldn't find them.

Biting my lip, I tied Tom’s robe tightly around my waist and eased open the door.  The hallway was empty, the shiny wood floor softened by a long runner.  I was acutely aware that I was naked under Tom's robe, hugging my arms around me as I tiptoed towards the stairs. 

The acoustics of the stairway carried the sound of clinking dishes to me before I was halfway down.  I couldn't see the dining room, but I froze at the sound of Tom's voice.

“Can I pour you some more tea, Mum?”

I swallowed.  _Should I go down?  Should I go back?  Dammit._   My hand hovered over the banister, one foot reaching back for the previous step, even as my stomach protested.

“That's a nasty cough.  Would you like more honey in here?”

“Oh, don't worry about me, Thomas.  It's just the-” _cough_ “-chill in the air.  The damp settles into my joints and lungs.  But I carry on...”

I narrowed my eyes in the direction of the dining room.  I could tell from here that cough was piffle.

“... Pour a dollop of brandy into my tea, love.  That will help warm the blood.  No, no, don't spend another thought on me, I'm sure you have important things to do.  Oh, I do hope it isn't influenza…”

A snort nearly bubbled out of my nose.  I clapped my hand over my mouth, not sure how the sound would carry.  I backed up a step; I wasn't going anywhere near that room now, no matter how hungry I was.

“Of course I'll worry about you, Mum.”  There was a small clatter of dishes.  “The winter in New York is always unpleasant for you.  Perhaps it would be a good idea to spend the rest of the year overseas- you've been wanting to visit Emma and then you can wait out the season in Barcelona or perhaps Valencia.  The _SS Maria_ is in dock right now, Captain Zan is one of your favorites.”

The pause that followed Tom's suggestion seemed to go on forever.  Were they talking too softly for me to hear?  I snuck down another few steps, straining to hear.

“Well.  Isn't that something.  Hustle your ill, fragile mother off onto a boat at the earliest convenience, would you?”

“You are hardly decrepit and dying.”  Tom's voice was warm and indulgent.  “You love going to England and Spain.  I expected you to leap at the chance to avoid a… what did you say last year, ‘a dirty, soggy December.’”

“I know when I'm being gotten rid of, Thomas.  I'm certain this has _nothing_ to do with that _flapper_ girl,” Mrs. Hiddleston sneered.  “When the cat's away, the rat will play, yes?”

I was frozen and breathless on the stairs now.

“And is it Kate or myself that's the rat in this aphorism?” Tom asked, the amusement in his tone starting to strain.

“Oh, love, let's not call a spade anything else-”

“I suggest you choose your words here carefully, Mother.”  I didn't have to see Tom to know the exact way he flexed his jaw in annoyance.

“Please, Thomas, she's not here to hear them.  Let's be honest-”

“I wasn't speaking of her.  Believe me, Miss Brown is crystal clear on how you feel about her.”  His voice dropped to a dangerous low.  “I, however, am very put out to hear such crass words about the woman I am dating.”

“Don't you act hurt, Thomas.  You are pushing me onto a boat- out of my own house, all over a fling-”

“This is _my_ house, Mother.  My house, my money, my patience.  You will be on the _Maria_ in the morning and when you return, you will be courteous to Miss Brown.  I will not tolerate less.”

My heart lurched at the clang of a tea cup slamming back down on the saucer.  Chair legs screeched against the floor and stomping footsteps began.  I bolted back up the stairs as quietly as I could, nearly tripping on my own feet before diving into Tom's room. 

I eased the door shut behind me and tucked myself back into bed, snatching the book from the nightstand onto my lap.  I watched the door as the knob turned, struggling to breathe in a normal rhythm.

“Ah, there’s my little spy,” Tom chuckled as he closed the door behind him, carrying a breakfast tray.  “How are you feeling this morning?”

 _Oops._ I flushed, looking down at the book and fidgeting with the pages.  “I’m fine, sir.”

He sat down on the bed, leaning over to nudge my head up.  “You know, you’re my girlfriend, you can call me by name,” he murmured against my lips before kissing me, slow and sweet.

My blush deepened.  “Habit from work…”

He hummed as he nibbled his way up my jaw to purr in my ear, “I rather like it.”  He smiled when he felt the shudder that ran through me.

“T-tom…”

“Didn't I just say that I liked you calling me ‘sir’?”  His breath on my neck was hot, his mouth even hotter.

I couldn't help but melt into his touch.  “But, sir,” I whined, my hand on his arm doing nothing to push him away.  “I'm really hungry…”

“Are you now?”  He sat back, tracing the deep neckline of the robe in light, slow strokes that made my skin prickle with longing.

Until my stomach growled.

Tom laughed, his smile brilliant and warm.  “I guess that answers that.”

He brought the tray over to the bed, pouring me a cup of coffee, adding cream and sugar when I asked.  I couldn’t help but notice, though, that his eyes stayed on my chest as I sipped, even when he started talking.

“I’m going into the city today, there’s that meeting with the inspector for the new factory.  You, however,” he dragged his gaze back up to my face, “will stay here and rest.”  His voice dropped a bit, sending a shiver up my spine.  “I expect you to be wearing that robe when I get back.”

“Not much other option.”  I waved vaguely around.  “I don’t have any other clothes and no way to get any… my keys were on the floor of the Frog last I saw them.”

Tom stroked my thigh.  “That’s where Franklin…?”

“I didn’t recognize him.  He sat behind me while I-” I swallowed a too-large gulp of coffee, my eyes watering as it burned down my throat.  “He had a knife.  He didn’t bother picking up my coat or purse.”

The food was a useful distraction as I told him about the last few days, careful chewing giving me time to chose my words or pushing the food around my plate while I pulled myself together.  If I stared at my eggs, I didn't have to look at him.  His questions were gentle, clarifying the sequence of events or moving me along from a difficult spot.

By the time I was trying to remember the details he wanted about the drive to the factory, I was wrapped safely in Tom's long arms.  He had moved the tray to the side when I stuttered and teared up and had shifted to tuck me under his shoulder, his hands skimming over me- a gesture that seemed intended comfort him as much as me.

We cuddled together like that until the clock on his shelf gave a quiet chime.  He lifted my hand, kissing my fingertips.

“I won't be gone too long.  The meeting is just few bribes, then a few more things to take care of before I come home.  I'll set some men to finding your coat and purse, might be that someone knows who picked them up.”

When he left, I stretched back into the luxury of his bed, picking up the book of poetry again.  I smiled at the notes he'd made on some of the poems, running my fingers over the words he'd written in the margins of _Verse Epistle_ , dissecting the Shakespeare references.

Another long bath in the massive tub and a short nap had me feeling extremely decadent.  Ringing downstairs to ask William to bring up a sandwich for lunch only increased that feeling- even if I did stammer over the request and thanked him around twenty times.  The butler gave me a sympathetic smile and mentioned with a wink that Mrs. Hiddleston was busy packing for her unexpected trip.  I still stayed in Tom’s room- just in case.

I was curled up on the wingback chair in the middle of the room, deep in a novel I had found on the shelf when a velvet baritone hummed in my ear, “What are you reading?”

The book dropped with a squeak as I whipped my head around to see Tom behind the chair.  His tongue was caught between his teeth, his eyes sparkling.

“ _The Great Impersonation_.  I'd started it when it came out but I never finished-”

I didn't get any further.  He tilted my head, leaning over to capture my lips in a languid, lingering kiss.  His hands stroked my neck, my shoulders, closing on my wrists and drawing my hands up to grasp the back of the chair behind my head.

“These stay here, understood?”

His grip slid down, tickling the underside of my arms, to cup and stroke my breasts through the silk of his robe.  I whimpered into his mouth as he circled my nipples, pinching and tugging until I was squirming in my seat, torn between pushing myself further into his touch or shying away from the sensation.

“Tell me, starling, are you wet for me?” he murmured in my ear, calm and casual.

My stomach dissolved into a thousand delicious butterflies that only intensified as he moved in front of the chair, pushing my knees apart to kneel between them.  “ _Y-yes_ , sir…”

Five o’clock shadow rasped across my inner thighs as he dragged teeth and tongue along my skin.  Nips and bites, licks and kisses, up one side and down the other until every inch was pink and pleasantly stinging.  He pressed a kiss to the top of my mound, humming in satisfaction.

“I brought a present home for you.  Be my good girl tonight and I'll give it to you.”

“What-”

“All you need to do-” he bit down on my thigh, sucking deeply on the skin, “is keep your hands there,” a similar love bite on my other leg, “and come on my tongue as many times as you can.”

The heat of his mouth on my clit made me shudder with need.  It didn't take long for his strong, rhythmic sucking to have my hips twisting up to beg for more.  I gripped the top of the chair, my head swimming.  One more firm, wet lick of his tongue and I was falling apart with a shaky gasp, legs shaking under his hands.

Tom tickled his tongue on my sensitive flesh,moving on to lap and nibble at my lips and thighs while I caught my breath.

And then he began again.  And again.

By the time he scooped me up in his arms, taking my place in the chair and arranging my legs to straddle him, his pants around his ankles, I was so open and dripping that it was effortless for him to lower my lax body onto his cock.  I moaned at the sensation of being so full, grinding down for a moment to push him deeper, twining my arms around his neck.

“I missed you at the office today,” he murmured, slipping the robe off my shoulders.  “Too empty without you… If only I had known years ago how soft,” his hands on my hips lifted me, “how pliable,” he pulled me back down hard, “how sweet,” the next thrust elicited a strangled mewl, “how delightfully, wickedly eager you are…”

He showed me how he wanted me to move, my body undulating and rocking on top of him.  As I did, his head dropped back with a throaty groan.

“You feel so good, starling, _fuck_ …”

My fingers twisted in his soft hair, scratching my nails on his scalp.  I kissed his neck, tracing the taut tendons and chasing the salty drops on his skin.  His fingers pressed into my thighs, his legs beginning to tremble under me.

“What a perfect quiff you are for me,” he hissed between gritted teeth.  “Such a wet, hot cunt, such a brilliant mouth…”  He surged up, wrapping me in his arms to thrust harder, kissing me with a fierceness that took my breath away.

“You're going to come for me again.”

“T-tom…”  I shook my head, my own legs quivering with over-exertion even as my core clenched around him.

“You're going to come for me again.”  His lips danced over my shoulder.  “I told you, and good girls do what they're told.  And you,” he combed the curls back from my face, cupping my cheeks in his large palms, “are my very good girl.”

The affection and pride in his voice washed over me like a warm tide.  And it didn't matter if I thought I could or not- when his fingers found my clit and his lips closed around my nipple, his name fell from me in helpless, blissful sobs.

When I blinked my eyes open, he buried his face between my breasts with a breathless snarl, pulling me down hard.  A few more strokes and he was groaning my name into my skin when he came inside me.  I rested my cheek on his sweat-damp hair, his breath hot on my chest, arms around me as we gathered the strength to stand.

*****

The present Tom brought me was two new outfits and a gorgeous fur-lined coat.  He laughed when I peppered his face with kisses, bubbling over with thanks.  I held up one of the blouses, cooing over the detailed embroidery.

“To tide you over until I can get a locksmith- an honest one- to your apartment,” he said.

“Why can’t Reimer do it?  I don’t need the whole lock changed, I have a spare key in my dresser.”

A pinched look floated across his face.  “I’ll get you a locksmith.”

I had shrugged off the odd tone in his voice in favor of shrugging into the heavy, luxurious velvet coat, petting the soft fur by my neck.  Any problem he was having with his lockpick wasn’t my concern.

And now I stood, wrapped in that coat, at the door of our office.  Tom exchanged a few words with the guard on duty while he unlocked the door.  I hesitated, hovering behind him.

Tom turned back just inside the threshold, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.  “What is it?”

“Oh, um.”  I fiddled with the large button at my waist.  _You promised to tell him how you’re feeling.  This one isn’t a big deal, start here._   “It’s just that the last time I left… I was so angry and upset, and then all that… stuff… happened...”

He took my hand, pulling me to him so he could wrap me in his arms.  His lips brushed mine, his tongue flicking out to wet them.  The kiss melted into slow seduction as Tom swept me inside, kicking the door shut behind him.  His hand on my back held me up when my knees started to wobble under the promise in the kiss, his grip bending me backwards to open me to him further.

“Are you upset now?” 

“No,” I breathed, rather stunned.  But I didn't miss the smug tilt of his eyebrow.

“Good, then there's work to be done.”  Tom waved at my desk with a wink.  “Get a wiggle on.”

It took me less time than I expected to fall back into my normal routine.  I sorted through the papers on my desk from my days away, updated the calendar with any relevant information.  I was just about to fetch Tom his morning coffee when I heard him through the open door.

“Miss Brown, I need you to take a letter.”

I perched on the chair across his desk, pad in hand and pen poised.  He smiled at me before starting, rising from his seat to wander the room as he dictated. 

“To whom it may concern, I am writing to inform you…”

Tom paced around the office and I scribbled in shorthand.  It was his standard boilerplate introduction- I could write it by memory without him and I started to, getting ahead of his words.  Until-

“... her work is impeccable.  It is rare to find someone so diligent, so eager to please-”

_Wait- what?_

“Such a smart girl, with a pretty smile that just begs to be kissed…”

His footsteps sounded behind me as my handwriting started to waver. 

“Her breasts are exquisite, firm and sensitive.”  He stood right behind me now, bending to rumble directly in my ear.  “But my favorite is her neck, she makes the most delightful gasps when I bite and nibble… “

He did exactly that, my head dropping to the side, boneless under his mouth.  “As perfect a little whore as I could ask for, with her wet, greedy cunt… her clever tongue… her wrists that fit perfectly in my hands when I hold her down…”

My pen fell from my lax fingers, the clatter of it on the floor seeming too loud in the sudden quiet.

“You've missed a bit of my dictation,” he purred.  “How unprofessional.”  He sucked on my earlobe for a moment before continuing, “Get on your knees, Miss Brown.”

I slid, trembling with anticipation, from the chair.  My heart skipped irregularly, my imagination skittering in every direction, my stomach doing pirouettes.  _Yes, please, please… yes…_

“Lift your skirt for me.”

I gathered the cotton pleats up around my waist, bare underneath- because Tom had “forgotten” to buy any sort of undergarments with my new outfits.  His hand between my shoulder blades pushed me gently down until my ass was in the air, my arms folded beneath my chin. 

“Beautiful...”

The not-so-playful slap he landed on my ass made me jump and forced a deep moan from my throat.  The sharp sting mellowed into a simmering warmth as his palm caressed over the reddened skin. 

“That's for not finishing my letter,” he said, mock-stern.

I tensed for another blow- instead, I felt his fingers drag between my legs.  I just had time to register a surprising stab of disappointment before my thoughts melted into gibberish as he fingered me in slow, methodical strokes.

“So wet,” Tom cooed.  “Such a hungry little cunt…  What do you think, Miss Brown,” he asked, as if asking my opinion for tea, as if he didn't have three fingers deep inside me, “shall I fuck this sweet, slippery cunt?”

I could only whimper, his fingers pressing on an extremely sensitive spot.

“Hmm, is that a yes?”  His touch disappeared from between my legs, the sound of his belt being undone followed by the rasp of his zipper.  “My darling whore… I'm going to fuck you so well, you won't know which way is up…”  His large hands spanned my hips, holding me still while he rutted against my wet folds.

“P-please… please, sir, _yes_ …”

His breath hissed from between his teeth as he slid home.  My body clenched around him in reflex, pulling him deeper, the stretch of his entry primally satisfying.  I arched my back, wriggling against him.

He groaned, his hips moving in long, forceful rolls.  “Oh, you like this, do you? Like being stuffed full from behind, like being on all fours for me?  Show me… fuck yourself onto my cock…”

I buried my burning face in my arms as I did just that, pushing and twisting back into each thrust.  Strong fingers kneaded the flesh in his grip, traced over the spot where he'd spanked me, pressed into my skin.

“Christ, you've got a luscious ass, starling.  Just right for grabbing and-”  He yanked me back hard, making me squeak in surprise.   He ground against me for a few moments, his thighs flexing between mine.

With a muttered curse, he pulled me up, my back to his chest.  He cupped my breasts, teasing and pinching my nipples to hard, aching points through my blouse.

One hand glided up to circle my throat.  He didn't squeeze, didn't press, but it made me feel his words in my very soul as he murmured in my ear, “My starling, my perfect quiff, who likes some manhandling, some scratch and sting to make her wet and willing… Such a good girl, with such dirty secrets…”

I shuddered in his arms, mewling in desperation when his other hand drifted down my stomach.  My own hands reached behind me, finding the round curves of his ass and holding on tight.

He rocked into me, hard and powerful.  “I won't even make you beg for it, not this time… because I can have you whenever I want you, can't I?  Maybe next time I'll have you beg, or maybe your mouth will be too full for it, hm?  So many possibilities with my sweet whore, my beautiful toy.”  His voice was becoming strained, his thrusts faster as he rubbed my clit.  “My starling… come for me…“

All I could hear above the rushing of my blood, above my own urgent, needy whines, were his growls, repeating one word over and over again-

“ _Mine_.”

“Harder, sir... please…”

“Yes… that's my girl…“

“ _Oh!_   Sir…! “

Every nerve in me seemed to shatter in one abrupt, sparkling moment.  I was panting in his arms, my head lolling on his shoulder, my limbs heavy and limp.  He crushed me to him, chasing his own peak with longing huffs of breath and pistoning hips and my name on his lips.

“Kate, my Kate…”

We slumped down to the floor, still spooned together.  Moving seemed like too much effort.  My eyes drifted shut, sinking into the comfortable silence with a sated smile.  Tom's hand traced over my hip and I snuggled back against him until his rueful chuckle washed over me.

“I'll never get anything done if you keep on like that.”  With a groan, he rolled away,tucking himself back into his pants.  “Come on, up.  Don't you have work to do?”

I pouted at him over my shoulder as I sat up.  “I _had_ been taking a letter.”

He snorted a laugh and shook his head.  “Ah yes.  You should tear that one up.”

I didn't tear up the letter.  I stuck it in the pocket of my coat to eventually take back to my apartment.  His words, my handwriting, a scribbled and filthy reminder that I could read over and over when I was alone.

When I turned back to my chair, a telltale wetness trickled down my thigh.  _Must remember to hide some extra underwear at my desk._

Working under Mr. Hiddleston, I was going to need them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes:  Thank you for reading this story.  Thank you for staying with it when it was so long between updates.  Your support, feedback, and encouragement were incredible during these last two years.  I couldn’t ask for better readers.  I need to say a special thank you to my beta’s and friends, @whittyone, hornedchick, @ourqs, and @writernotwaiting.  They kept this story alive so many times when I would have given up and thrown it all away.  I also need to thank them for keeping ME alive with their unending love, kindness, and patience with my whining. 
> 
> This is the end of Tom and Kate’s beginning- but I have so much more material for them, stashed away in my notes.  There will be at least a few one shots showing their lives after this “ending” and if no one is sick of them by then, I even have enough for a sequel set after Prohibition is repealed.  I hope that I'll have some time to edit/rewrite the first few chapters- it took 2 years to finish this story and in that time I think my writing has improved.  I'd like the beginning to match the end in quality.  I love these two characters and I am very proud of their story, I don't want to see the last of them.  But first, I have another couple who has been waiting over 2 years to get laid *cough*IntheRain*cough*


End file.
